


The Deadliest Game

by deeplyshallow



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, So this is basically a Hunger Games retelling of Heathers, Veronica drops her knife a lot, and all the death and everyone being a dick that entails, don't get too fond of anyone, jdonica, new chapter every Friday, she also gets chased by a bunch of wild animals, vague hints of Dukesaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 68,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deeplyshallow/pseuds/deeplyshallow
Summary: When Veronica Sawyer is reaped for the 89th Hunger Games, alongside a set of vicious female Careers all named Heather, she's sure she hasn't long to live. But, when she finds herself forced into an alliance with the mysterious and manipulative male tribute from District 12, she realises that the Heathers may be the least of her worries…
Relationships: Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Comments: 293
Kudos: 99





	1. Training Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a retelling of Heathers, set during the Hunger Games. I chose the 89th Games for purely aesthetic reasons and it's not very relevant, but in universe the revolution never happened, Katniss likely didn't volunteer and, about 18 years before the fic takes place, everyone started giving their kids names popular in the 80s... for some reason. I have tried my best to stay accurate to what happens in the Games in the books, but have taken some dramatic liberties on occasion.
> 
> Giant, massive thanks to chxrryb0mb for being this fic's cheerleader, beta and answering vital questions such as "can you still talk if you've been stabbed in the neck?", you're the best <3
> 
> She also made this lovely cover :D
> 
> Please do not attempt to replicate anything in this fic in real life. I do not endorse stabbing, punching, murder or standing within 2 metres of people outside your household bubble.

_It's just like high school._

It's an odd thought given the circumstances, but the 24 teenagers are acting no differently than they would be in their school lunch hall.

They've only had half a day's training, but the cliques have already clearly formed. Looking around, she can see a couple of, decidedly unmuscular, guys describing made-up battle techniques that they're not going to live long enough to use, next to them two girly girls are unable to resist gushing over the outfits in last night's ceremony, while the two youngest tributes are huddled together like terrified freshmen. There are a few loners dotted around the outside tables and even a table of stoners in the corner, looking very sulky without access to their usual supply.

Loudest of all is the Career table. They care nothing for the sombre atmosphere that unintentionally permeates everyone else's conversations – instead, they are laughing raucously, piling the richest foods onto their plates and taking great advantage of the alcohol they have (perhaps unwisely as they're training in the afternoon as well) all been provided with for lunch.

But this ain't no high school; this is the Hunger Games. 23 of them will be dead in a matter of weeks.

Brad has long since abandoned her for trying to make nice with the Careers (he's doing surprisingly well considering she's always thought him an overconfident idiot, but she supposes the Careers don't tend to recruit on winning personalities), so she's standing around aimlessly trying to work out where to sit.

A kind looking girl, who she vaguely recognises from one of the televised reapings, smiles and beckons her to her table.

"Betty Finn, District 3," she says, grasping her hand and shaking it before there's any chance for awkwardness, "and here's Peter, he's my district partner," Peter looks slightly more cautious than Betty, but smiles and nods nonetheless, "And this is Rodney from District 5 and Dennis."

"District 10," says Dennis, "and you are?"

"Veronica, Veronica Sawyer."

Betty nods, enthusiastically, "You're from District 8 aren't you? Your midnight blue dress in the parade last night was amazing! I was so jealous of the way it sparkled! I don't think could ever look as beautiful as you did."

Veronica accepts the compliment with a shrug, "The benefit of being from the fabrics district. It's a shame sewing won't be of much use in the Games."

There's an awkward silence.

Betty is small and skinny, but in a way that makes her look gangly rather than sporty, Rodney looks like a particularly strong wind could blow him over and none of the other guys at the table have much to boast of either.

None of them are going to win the Games. Perhaps that's why they're ok with acting like friends.

"So tell us," says Rodney quickly, "what's it like in District 8?"

"Grey," says Veronica, honestly, "mostly there's a lot of factories. There are nicer parts, where the designers live and where they make things more interesting than uniforms, but where I am it's just cramped houses and smoke. I think I saw more green on the train here than I ever have in my life."

Dennis chuckles, "Count yourself lucky, when you raise livestock all you see is fields, slaughterhouses, and very smelly sheds."

"It's mostly grey in 3 too." Says Peter, before nervously glancing at the camera in the corner of the room "Not that that's bad, we have some cool technology too, high tech labs for the engineers and flat screens on many buildings so we can see TV even when we're outside."

And they slip into conversation about the differences between their districts. It's genuinely interesting and almost pleasant. Maybe in another life, they could all be good friends.

A dessert cart is rolled into the hall. Veronica may not have spent her life particularly well-fed, but after the rich lunch, she cannot fit anything in. However, this does not appear to be the case for most of the other tributes, there is a series of loud squeaks as half the room, and most of her table, push back their chairs and run over to see what delicacies are on offer, leaving Veronica and Betty alone.

Veronica snorts, "Boys."

Betty grins in reply, and shuffles her seat closer the moment she's certain they can't be heard, "Sooo, now it's just us girls… which of the guys here do you think is the cutest?"

She laughs, "Really?"

Betty nods eagerly, "There must be someone, I swear they're way more handsome than normal this year."

 _Let's hope they're not better at fighting than normal too,_ "Is now really the time?" she says weakly, somewhat taken aback at the absurdity of the notion of choosing which of their potential murderers they'd most like to bone.

"That's a yes then…"

Veronica smiles, honestly this is the best distraction she's had all day, "Perhaps… but you first."

Betty looks a little disappointed but is happy enough to comply. "Well not any of the Careers," she says, "none of them are my type this year. I prefer…"

"Please don't say Brad, if you say Brad we can't ever be friends," Veronica says, glancing over to her district partner, who is guffawing mindlessly at every joke the Careers make.

She laughs, shaking her head, "No, not Brad. Over there," she nods at one of the nerdy guys miming swinging a sword the way one would if they had never touched a sword in their lives, "his name's Al. He's from District 6."

"You going to go talk?"

"I can't, he's got a girlfriend, he was telling Keith that she was super-hot."

"Well, it's not like she's ever going to know."

Betty looks at her reproachfully, "I've been entered into the Games. I've lost my chance at a long fulfilling life not my morals."

Veronica thinks that Al's (potentially non-existent) girlfriend probably has bigger concerns than worrying about him having a fling during training, but she doesn't pursue the topic.

"Anyway, you promised me some gossip…"

She sighs, a touch melodramatically, "Do I really have to?"

Obviously, like any hormonal teenager with a time limit, she's been eyeing the pickings, but she feels she'd rather be a tad more subtle than Betty. Biologically, finding someone sexually attractive means they'll be better at protecting you or good at throwing a spear through their enemies. The latter worries her a little.

If Betty picks up on any of her misgivings, she chooses to blatantly ignore them, "Oh tell me, tell me! I promise I won't tell anyone, I'll take it to my grave…" she pauses awkwardly.

Veronica feels that sudden onset of nausea she's been getting a lot since she was reaped. She babbles to make it go away.

"Him, over there, District 12," she nods towards the guy sitting in the corner on his own, making no attempt to socialise, just watching the rest of the lunch hall. Observing. His eyes flick over to her, she looks away.

"Ooooh," says Betty, impending certain death apparently forgotten with this important piece of information, a knowing smirk on her features, "you like bad boys then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on, tall dark and mysterious… plus you must have seen District 12's reaping?"

"Yes, obviously. He volunteered." It had been the first thing that had piqued her interest in the boy, followed quickly by _Wow, he's attractive._

"Then you see my point! District 12 never volunteers! And it wasn't even like he was doing it to save someone else, the boy he replaced looked just as bewildered as the rest of the district."

"So I saw."

"Come on, you can't deny you mostly want him because he's mysterious and you want to sate your curiosity."

"He's hot too, but that might be part of it," she laughs. Honestly, she's impressed at how intuitive Betty is, but she's not quite right; it's more than simply the insuppressible need to have her questions answered that draws her to this boy, so different from the other tributes. There's something dangerous but compelling about him, something that she can't quite put her finger on, something that makes her feel like maybe their stories are meant to be entwined.

xxx

Betty joins her at the afternoon training stations. The Careers are still busy showing off in the weapons area so they weave their way around the soft skills; learning basic survival techniques, the best way to camouflage themselves, how to fish and light a fire. She's supposed to be focusing completely on the training at hand, but it's so nice to have someone to talk to and to help when something goes wrong. It's the first time since she was reaped that she hasn't felt completely alone.

She's just mastered how to make a shelter out of branches (well, mastered is a strong word, it doesn't fall down unless she pushes really hard) and is looking around for another activity when she catches sight of the boy from 12 again. He's over at the edible and poisonous plant station, carefully studying each leaf and berry the trainer shows him.

Betty follows her line of vision, and smiles knowingly, "I heard his district partner talking to him earlier, his name's Jason Dean. Shall we go over?"

She considers, but some rarely listened to instinct for self-preservation kicks in, "No, let's try out the climbing wall now, it's free."

Betty looks disappointed but dutifully follows.

xxx

He's by himself again as training ends, he sits in the corner of the room, simply watching as everyone else interacts. And damn it if that doesn't make him even more interesting.

"He's looking at you," says Betty, re-joining her as they wait for their escorts to arrive.

"He's looking at everyone, there's nothing else to do if you sit alone like that."

"He's definitely been checking you out all afternoon."

"He's been observing his surroundings, a small part of which is me, that's how eyes work."

Betty shakes her head affectionately, "You should just talk to him you know, you want to know why he volunteered and if he likes you just ask."

"I'm not going to just go up there and be like, 'training day poll, do you like me? Check yes or no.'"

Her entire love life has consisted of a kindergarten boyfriend, she hardly wants to embarrass herself in the art of flirting in front of a bunch of cameras.

Betty shrugs, "What have you got to lose?"

She has a point there.

"Go talk," says Betty, lightly pushing her towards him. Veronica makes sure she can see her rolling her eyes, but obliges.

He looks her up and down as she comes over, it makes her feel like he's interrogating her before he's even opened his mouth.

"Greetings and salutations."

"Jason Dean."

"Call me JD. And you are Veronica Sawyer, District 8." He smiles at her wolfishly, it somehow makes him more attractive and more unsettling at the same time, "Finally, some competition."

She laughs because it's such a ridiculous statement, "What are you talking about?"

He lets the silence run on for a few moments, looks her over with a strange mixture of excitement and detachment.

"Look around us Veronica, look at all of them, playing their roles even as they are fattened up for the feast. We've seen it every year since we were born. I can tell you right now who will die within minutes of the Games beginning, who will taper away after a day or two. I can tell you which contestants are so arrogant they think they were born to win, who have trained to fight and will most likely die on the final days with stupid looks of surprise on their faces when they realise that they are mortals, like everyone else in the districts."

Veronica looks over at the huddle of Careers, the boys' faces are now flushed red with alcohol from the minibar, while the girls let out brazen shrieks of laughter, not even noticing the discomfort of the tributes nearby. She doesn't disagree.

"And then there are those of us who understand what it's really about." He continues, "Not the strength or the speed, or the brutality. It's all about knowing what everyone else is thinking and planning. It's about knowing the other tributes, but also what the audience wants, what the Gamemakers want, what looks best for the cameras. If you rely on strength alone you'll always be playing at a disadvantage."

She raises her eyebrows, "Oh yeah, because I've never seen someone strong, brutal and stupid win the Games."

"Only because most Games don't feature anyone with basic intelligence."

"So you're going to win then?" she scoffs.

He cocks his head, never taking his gaze off her, "Maybe not, anymore."

The words stun her a little bit, "Uh, thanks, I guess."

"Do you think I'm wrong?"

Honestly? Yes, yes, she does. She's been sure of her death sentence the moment her name was read out in the Central Square and she had to use all her strength to make her way to the stage without shaking.

When she said her final goodbyes to her parents there were no words of comfort, just her father, who couldn't stop crying, and her mom repeating again and again how much she loved her. Then there was the gaggle of friends and acquaintances, who had bustled into the final meeting room going on and on about how they never thought that anyone they knew would be chosen, and how tragic it all was, as if it was happening to them and not her.

No one has ever mentioned the possibility of her winning. She doesn't think the thought has even crossed their minds and it's certainly not something she's dared think of herself. He's the first person to even consider her as anything but cannon fodder.

She's flattered, even if it's probably just a morbid way of flirting.

His half-smile is cocky, as he lets her take his statement in, and the jolt of attraction she feels gives her the confidence to smile coyly back.

"I guess you'll have to wait and see. In the meantime, maybe you'll tell me why you volunteered for this torture?"

He shrugs, "I don't want them to win." And doesn't elaborate.

She looks over at the Careers laughing raucously – pointing at JD's fat district partner, miming how they're going to kill her. She doesn't really want them to win either. Though she thinks volunteering to make sure of it is a little extreme.

"Veronica! Stop gossiping, we have tactics to discuss," shouts a voice from the corner. Recognising the shrill tones of her escort, she is jolted out of the odd conversation.

Veronica groans, Pauline Fleming's idea of 'tactics' so far seems to be about having a positive outlook on this very negative situation, "Uh, see you."

He looks her over once more, "Definitely."

She hurries away lightheaded, palms sweaty, her heart racing, and firmly ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that is screaming that she has just met her murderer.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: The Tributes of the 89th Annual Hunger Games**

**District 1 –** Luxury Items  
Heather McNamara  
Ram Sweeny

 **District 2 –** Masonry and Defense  
Heather Chandler  
David Remington

 **District 3 –** Technology  
Betty Finn  
Peter Dawson

 **District 4 –** Fishing  
Heather Duke  
Kurt Kelly

 **District 5 –** Power  
Shannon Lucas  
Rodney Bulb

 **District 6 –** Transportation  
Cathy Stone  
Al Springer

 **District 7 –** Lumber  
Tracy Hophead  
Bobby Young

 **District 8 –** Clothes and Fabrics  
Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9 –** Grain  
Courtney Chadwick  
Keith Harrington

 **District 10 –** Livestock  
Shelly Little  
Dennis Grundy

 **District 11 –** Agriculture  
Phyllis McCarthy  
Dwight Archer

 **District 12 –** Coal  
Martha Dunstock  
Jason Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like everything I write nowadays, this has been about 3 years in the making. I was just adding bits in non-chronological order, until about 6 weeks ago where I actually buckled down and started writing it every night.
> 
> But yeah, the whole fic is written, so the plan is to release a chapter a week.
> 
> Any comments or feedback, good and bad, is very much appreciated.


	2. Training Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed and gave kudos on the last chapter, it means the world to me!
> 
> It has been brought to my attention that not everyone has read the Hunger Games books, I am hoping nothing is too confusing, but if it is, please just ask and I will explain.
> 
> Here's Chapter 2 (enjoy everyone being alive while it lasts, mwahaha).
> 
> I also want to introduce a fun, and completely pointless game called "Heathers Soundtrack Bingo" - basically, I thought it would be fun to hide all the song titles from the soundtrack (including the West End songs, excluding reprises) somewhere in the fic - so see if you can spot them as you read (there was one last chapter and one this one).

It's still dark when Veronica wakes up from a fitful sleep. The luminous green clock on the wall informs her it's five. Training isn't until ten and breakfast isn't served until eight-thirty, so she flops back onto the mattress and tries to drift off, though she already knows it's futile.

Instead, she gazes at the elaborately decorated ceiling. Her bedroom is the most luxurious thing she's ever seen, especially considering it's designed to be mostly used while she is unconscious. There is a gigantic wardrobe filled to the brim with stupid looking dresses - entirely impractical for her remaining days alive, a TV that takes up an entire wall and even a collection of high tech game consoles (in case she wants to take a break from practicing for actual combat by engaging in fantasy combat).

The bed she is lying on is also a marvel of Capitol technology, a mattress as soft as a dove, which memorises the contours of the body for perfect comfort, feather-light blankets, which keep the user permanently at their optimum temperature and soundproofed pillows designed to give the sleeper an undisturbed night.

It is awful.

She is alone, comfortable and with no distractions to take her mind off her thoughts.

She rolls over, buries her head in her pillows, all the soundproofing in the world unable to muffle the chant of _you're not going to survive, you're not going to survive,_ rattling around her brain.

xxx

Pauline grills them at breakfast just as much as she did at dinner last night.

Correction, Pauline grills Brad, (apparently one glance at a muscled tribute and she can already see every Capitol magazine vying for her on the front page), and pretty much ignores Veronica while Cecelia and Garfunkel, their district mentors (the ones who have actually competed in the Games so might actually have some good advice), can't get a word in edgeways.

Brad was a couple of years above her at school, was Football Captain and apparently has the right combination of strength, looks, stupidity and arrogance to have had half the girls in school in love with him and the other half wondering what the hell was wrong with their peers. He was the kind of guy that everyone knew. He, on the other hand, never noticed she existed and is clearly planning on keeping it that way.

Still, his boastful replies (he is so close to the Careers already, especially David, the biggest and strongest), are probably the most useful thing that's ever come out of his mouth. From Brad she finds out that – in a stroke of stunning originality by their parents – all three of the fierce looking female Careers are named Heather, while the guys are David, Kurt and Ram. All six of them are 17 or 18, were top of their class at a fighting academy for at least the past decade ("but there's no accounting for natural talent!" Pauline croons), are masters at both weapons and hand to hand combat and have already agreed to team up in the arena (and apparently are fine with Brad tagging along).

Yeah, she is dead. So dead.

xxx

"Sooooo," asks Betty, running up to her as they are waiting for training to begin and glancing, none too subtly at JD, "did you get your questions answered?"

"Yeah. He's a weirdo."

"A cute weirdo?"

"Yeah, whatever," She's not sure she wants to elaborate on the strange conversation she had yesterday. Nevertheless, she looks over and checks him out again. He's attractive, mostly in a _my parents would have a heart attack if I brought him home_ sort of way, but she has until Tuesday to fit a lifetime's worth of teenage rebellion in, so that is just a bonus. There's a part of her that needs to have him before it's too late.

The rest of her simply knows that she doesn't want to be anywhere near him in the arena.

There's something about him. Something about the way he quietly takes everything in, always watching, never reacting. Something about the emotionless apathy he regards the rest of the contestants with, even as he assesses their every move. He's formulating a plan that no one else will have even thought of, she's sure of it, and it won't go well for anyone mixed up in it.

If she wasn't in the Games herself, and was the gambling over child murder type, she'd put her money on him. As it is, she's mostly just pissed that it's her Games he chose to volunteer in.

He's dangerous, and she loves and hates how hot she finds this.

He catches her gaze and holds it unashamed, until she gets embarrassed and looks away.

xxx

Betty joins her again for the training, as they make their way around the rest of the soft skills.

They both suck at plant identification. The instructor keeps going over different leaf shapes and colours of flowers, but the plants all just look different and more exciting than the moss at home (God knows, she'd never seen a real life tree until the day she got on the Capitol train). She memorises a few distinct looking edible berries and prays that it'll be enough.

Betty excels at anything that requires construction or logic, so easily puts together basic and more complex shelters. While Veronica can tie knots and weave nets with her eyes shut.

"If only we had an annual sew to the death competition instead. I think I could do that."

"I assume Brad would be pretty solid competition?"

Veronica waves this hypothetical problem away, "I'd sabotage him, or stab him with a needle beforehand, it would be fine."

Betty lets out a pearl of real, genuine laughter. Veronica is unable to resist grinning in response and lets the lack of complete despair such a friendship offers wash over her. Veronica's never really had a best friend. She's always been described as "nice" or "sweet" by the other girls who considered her a friend and she's hung with them in their groups, but there's never been someone attached at the hip, who she can trust with her deepest secrets and have weekly sleepovers and numerous in-jokes with. She thinks in another world that best friend could be Betty.

She's never met someone quite like her. The girl wears her heart on her sleeve and she finds it astounding that, in a place like this, she's found someone she feels actually cares what happens to her. It feels like she's known Betty for years, not just a little more than a day. It's probably just denial but, it's hard to feel like your life is completely doomed when you have someone in the same position as you to almost enjoy it with.

Soon after lunch, she notices that the Careers are finally slowly migrating from their dick measuring contests at the weapons section and are moving over to dabble in surviving in ways that don't just require monopolising all the resources.

She points this out to Betty, "Shall we try them out?"

But her friend shakes her head, "No, you go ahead, I'll be no good at fighting and I don't really want to learn to hurt people."

Veronica's stomach sinks, she doesn't want to think about what this means. Suddenly all the mirth from the morning is gone and their situation seems all too real, "I don't think we have much of a choice."

Betty's face hardens, her expression is closed, "There's always a choice, it might be limited, it might result in my death, but no one can force me to be who I don't want to be."

"Are you sure?" says Veronica finally. What else is there to say? _I'm sorry?_ Pity doesn't do anything.

Betty smiles sadly, "Yes, I'm sure, I have been for a while."

Veronica can only nod and shuffle off. When she looks back, her friend smiles at her, but it does nothing to ease the knot in her stomach.

She wonders if Betty expects her to refuse too, but she's not going into the arena with no way of defending herself. Friend or not, Veronica's not sure she can risk having Betty as an ally once they enter the Games.

But the idea of Betty suffering, of dying alone, in pain and scared is no more appealing. Maybe they'll both die in the bloodbath and then she won't have to deal with such issues.

She does her best to push it all out of her mind as she approaches the nearest weapons station.

"Experience with swords?" asks the trainer.

"Um… I use a knife to cut fabrics and prepare food back home and I've seen swords on TV before."

If the trainer is disappointed with her being a complete amateur, he doesn't show it. He calmly sorts between the blades, until he finds a small sword that she can swing, and gently grasps her wrists guiding her in the basic strokes. The movements feel foreign to her. She's never even really been in a fight before. Sure, there was that time when she was 8 and had a scuffle with a girl who stole her skipping rope, and there have certainly been times when she's wanted to hit people who said stupid things, but she didn't want to be hit back nor known as _the girl who hits people who say stupid things._

Eventually, he decides she's ready to try her techniques out on a real target and points her towards a line of dummies.

She examines the dummy, it doesn't really look like a human, it has no face or hair for a start, but even so, it looms above her, a head taller than her and a whole lot more muscly. She tries a few moves on it, it's sort of ok, but hitting a target is a lot easier if it's not screaming for mercy or worse also attacking you with a much bigger sword.

After he's vaguely satisfied, the trainer switches the sword for a knife, which is thankfully a little easier to manage, and shows her closer combat, how to block, how to stab, how to slit a throat. It's a bit like extreme sewing, it's all about memorising the movements that have the most impact with the least amount of effort. She leaves thinking, if nothing else, she might at least be slightly better at not dropping the knife on her foot.

She's much worse at archery (it takes her a good minute to string her bow and then the arrows fall pitifully a few meters from where she was standing) and her javelin lacks quite a lot of the necessary accuracy to do much more than disturb some leaves and reveal her location.

By the last hour of training, she's exhausted, her arms are aching from lifting the heavy weapons, her legs are complaining about being forced into completely new directions for fighting stances and her mind just wants to stop thinking about different ways to cause damage.

She looks around the hall guiltily and sees she's far from the only one, the Heathers are huddled in a corner pointing and giggling at any contestant who is struggling, the nerdy guys have given up any attempt at actual fighting and are hitting each other with wooden swords and the stoners have disappeared altogether. Even Brad has moved on from showing the Careers his strength, to bragging instead about his (admittedly good, he is from the textile district) knot tying skills, as he and David sit at the ropes station making elaborate traps and netting.

She shuffles over to the camouflage area, picks up a paintbrush and a canvas, vaguely attempts to remember what the edible plants look like, and ignores the world for a little while focusing on the brushstrokes and how the colours work together.

JD comes over from the knife station.

"Nice flower."

She smiles at him, a tad sarcastically, looking up from under her eyelashes, "It shall be the talent that wins me the Games."

He looks faintly amused.

"It's calming, ok? I like art, I'm good at it. I'd have loved to have been a designer back in 8, but you end up in a factory if you don't have connections."

"In 12 you end up starving unless your family got rich from sucking up to the Peacekeepers," he says, nodding at his district partner who is struggling with a running exercise on the other side of the room. She is about twice the size of him, "Martha's father's the Mayor, I imagine it's quite a scandal back home. Must be nice to have a shitty father who is rich, rather than a shitty father who's a drunkard."

She doesn't ask for more information about his family life, it feels like a can of worms she's not ready to open. Anyway, what's the point of talking about a past that has already gone? "And yet, she was reaped and you were not."

He chortles, "No one is safe, no matter how much they think they are, not here in Panem. And, as for me, I'm sure they were just biding their time."

She thinks about asking for clarification, but decides he's spewing enough treason without her encouraging it. Instead, she gestures at Kurt and Ram who, unlike their contemporaries, are still beating the stuffing out of some unfortunate dummies, "Still think you have a chance at winning?"

"I knew those idiots' tactics before I laid eyes on them. They won't be an issue."

Oh to be an adolescent male, with all the confidence in the world, "You might be forgetting the other ways to die. There are animals, natural disasters and poisonous plants. I still feel like, you know, not volunteering, would have been a safer choice."

"If we die, we die. At least we know we tried. We'll all die unfulfilled in this hell hole anyway. Why not go out with a bang…" He trails off, looks around and, for a mad moment, she wonders if he's actually regretting his treasonous words.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His eyes leave no room for mistaking his intentions and she puts up no resistance. He grasps her hand and tugs her out of the room. Betty raises her eyebrows as she sees them go, "I want to show you something."

When they enter the lobby, he looks around for the cameras on the ceiling, but instead of shying away, he just smirks at them, checks one is following their movement and pulls her into a nearby closet.

His lips are on hers before she has a chance to protest. She wasn't planning to anyway, she just pulls him closer and moans in his mouth as his hands slide underneath her shirt.

His mouth is on her collarbone, her neck, so he's not doing a great job of explaining whatever point he's trying to make, but she ignores that issue for now.

 _What am I doing,_ she thinks, _how is this happening on the eve of my death with a boy who in a week might be my murderer?_ Even as she shoves her hands down his pants when he's not moving fast enough.

He grunts, pushes his pants down to his knees and then abruptly kicks the door open, holding her wrists as she unsuccessfully scrabbles to close it.

"Look at the camera," he mutters in her ear.

Blushing furiously, she obliges. It's no longer facing them, in fact, it's facing the opposite direction. He lets her squirm uncomfortably for a few seconds more before he shuts the door and continues the more important task of pulling down her pants.

He chuckles softly, "Violence, child death, all ok, but God forbid they show an act of consensual sex, the Capitol wouldn't ever want to traumatise the children. This is the most privacy we'll ever get in the Games."

She's not sure if she believes him, but she'll be damned before she dies a virgin.

xxx

Afterwards, she leans against him, readjusting her clothes and catching her breath. Outside, the bustle of the rest of the world has returned, though through the slit in the door she can see the cameras are still pointing away from them.

She glances at them curiously, then looks back at him, all of yesterday's questions seem even more important today, "What are you planning?" she asks, not particularly expecting an answer.

His smile is less affectionate and more superior than she would like, given the circumstances.

"That would be telling, you'll know when the time is right."

She leaves quickly after that.

xxx

All attempts to return to the Training Hall unnoticed prove entirely futile, as she spots Betty hanging around by the door.

"What happened? What happened? You have to tell me!"

"We did it, in the closet."

Betty's eyes widen as she's caught between scandal and excitement, "What was it like?"

 _We're still children, oh God we're still such children,_ "It was nice. Now I'm not going to talk any more about it, and will skip any awkwardness by avoiding him for the rest of my life."

A good plan, considering the circumstances, but one she's still not sure she'll pull off (and only partially because Betty looks like she'll thrust a spear through her, pre-Games rules be damned, if she doesn't get a few more details).

xxx

She barely listens to Pauline and Brad's rambles that evening and, even when Cecelia asks her questions directly, she grunts one word answers.

Her head is spinning, and now it's not just because of the whole _I'm going to die next week_ thing.

There's a bar in the suite's lounge that gives you whatever drink you say to the microphone. Her experience with alcohol mostly involves the odd stolen bottle of home brewed wine shared in the corner of the playground after school, but she orders several shots of vodka (which apparently here have specks of gold in) and downs them without hesitation.

She'll probably have a headache in the morning, but it's worth it for the peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Title: Veronica prepares for the Hunger Games by losing her virginity and getting wasted.


	3. Training Day 3

Morning comes all too suddenly, and a part of her wishes that she had not succumbed to sleep at all so she could experience a few moments more of her final days. The vodka induced headache luckily is quelled by some mysterious tablets provided by the minibar, and she figures she just has to put up with the ache between her thighs. It feels silly in the cold light of day: the gossiping, the giggling, the sex. It's as if yesterday was just her deluding herself that anything that was important in her old life has any relevance anymore.

Training has become monotonous without Betty at her side. She continues making her way through the rest of the weapons, she decides using a sling might be more harmful to herself than anyone else, can barely pick up an axe and her spear bounces off the arm of the dummy she was aiming at.

Admitting defeat, she slinks back to the knife section as that was the thing she was the least bad at. The trainer helps her with the blade again, shows her some more advanced moves that she can use to hurt while getting away fast enough to not be hurt back, he then shows her where the major arteries are on a body and how to cause the most damage to them. That, she thinks, she can do (provided her victims remain as still as the dummy), it's all about technique, lodging the pointy end in just the right place – she's made enough dresses to do that.

She stays there for a while, practicing and is almost feeling good about it until Heather Chandler, the tough Career from District 2, comes up, pushes her aside without even glancing at her, grabs three throwing knives, closes her eyes and hits the dummy several metres away without even looking like she was trying.

The trainer breaks into a grin he's never shown her, "Bravo!"

Veronica quickly walks away, making sure no one else sees the dread that paints her face as the reality sinks in. There's only a couple of hours left of training, she still can't fight for shit and, even though the thought of the arena makes her feel sick, part of her can't wait for it to be over.

She sees Betty and Dennis back over at the plant section and goes over to join them. She and Betty are still as useless as each other at identifying the different leaves, but Dennis can tell by the angle of a curve which to eat and which to stay far away from. He shares the information with both of them freely, helps them when they muck up, cracks jokes to lighten the mood. Slowly she improves.

Betty has been more subdued all morning, replying and laughing when invited, but not really volunteering her own comments. So it's a surprise when she suddenly says "We could survive like this, couldn't we? Outlive the Careers by knowing what's edible. We could live like that for a while."

Dennis and Veronica look at each other, not sure what to say. Because no, that wouldn't make good TV for the Capitol. Get too quiet and they set traps, unleash muttations or lead the Careers to you, and even if it did work, would that not just mean they'd have to kill each other at the end?

Betty smiles sadly at their doubtful faces, "I know. But just imagine it though, a world where we could all live together off the land, farming just enough food to feed ourselves and not having to give most of it away to the..." she trails off.

All Veronica can do is grasp the hand of the friend she can already feel is slipping into helpless despair, "That would be beautiful."

Friendships, trust, are different here she realises. It's limited, any bond here is. Anyone, no matter how much you liked them, could betray you if the choice came between you and them. But somehow this makes you relish the time you have, the final connections you can make with the only people who can still understand you. One way or another you may lose them tomorrow, so for today, you cling onto them as tightly as possible.

Then the bell rings for lunch, and any chance for practice is gone.

xxx

Without the clang of weapons and the overzealous grunts of Careers that fill the Training Hall, it's clear that Betty's not the only one in the canteen who is more subdued. It's finally properly dawned on the tributes that their days left on Earth can probably be counted on their fingers. That in three days, the people they've been talking and laughing with will become their deadliest enemies.

She funnels in as much food as she can stomach, but the rich, almost unimaginable, flavours offered by the Capitol's meals feel like cardboard in her mouth. Betty beside her is moving food around her plate, without even bothering trying to eat it, and when the dessert cart comes hardly anyone gets up to go to it. Across the room, the Career table is boasting about what scores they'll get, but even there they are less rumbustious, the wine on their table is untouched.

All too soon the dessert cart is pulled away and a line of what is unmistakably the Gamemakers, walk past them and through a large set of double doors that immediately slam shut. The chatter in the room quietens to mumbles and remains so for a few minutes until she hears the crackle of a loudspeaker.

"You will enter the testing room through the double doors as you are called. Please be prepared to show the Gamemakers the best of your talents. What you show inside will remain secret but you will be scored between 1 and 12. These scores will be presented to Panem tonight. May the odds be ever in your favour," then a pause, "Ram Sweeny, District 1."

Such is the tension in the room she could swear even Ram looks slightly nervous as he strides across the room and disappears through the doors.

Betty scoots over so she is right beside her, leans her head against her shoulder and entangles their hands together. Veronica squeezes back, it eases her shaking. Betty slips her other hand into Rodney's so Veronica reaches out to Peter. As Dennis joins hands with Peter and Rodney, there are five of them, holding each other's hands, as if in a prayer circle, as the first four Careers are slowly called, hoping, at least for this second, that they will do the impossible and all survive.

"Peter Dawson, District 3," says the voice, emotionlessly.

Peter grimaces and reluctantly untangles himself.

"Good luck," they all mutter, and the moment is broken.

Even so, Betty and Veronica lean against each other until Betty's name is called.

The lunch hall is deadly silent once the Careers have left, except for the footsteps of a few tributes pacing the room, even Brad seems somewhat subdued in the knowledge that the decision made today could change the entire trajectory (and length) of his life.

Rodney is called straight after Heather Duke, so Veronica and Dennis sit beside each other, close but not touching, occasionally looking around at the other tributes but not at each other.

Across the room, Martha is muttering to herself and the little girl from 10 is quietly crying. JD has returned to what he was doing in the lunch hall the day she met him, observing them all with a neutral curiosity, his eyes flickering towards her a little more than they statistically should. She turns away so he can't catch her eye, she's got more important things to worry about than being distracted by him.

"Al Springer, District 6."

She wonders whether she'd be allowed to sneak back into the Training Hall, there seems like so many things she didn't try, so many questions she didn't ask the trainers. She wishes she had a pen so she could write them down to ask Cecilia and Garfunkel later.

"Cathy Hophead, District 7."

She eyes up the wine still on the table, and spends a long time debating the urge to take a huge gulp, but ultimately decides the lack of coordination would probably not be worth any courage it might give her.

"Brad Richards, District 8."

Brad gets to his feet and, to her surprise, nods at her before walking with what might be confidence towards the door.

She is next. How long do the sessions take? Ten? Fifteen minutes? There's no clock in the room and she didn't think to count before.

Each second takes forever but also passes instantaneously.

"Veronica Sawyer, District 8."

She gets up, trying to remember how to place one foot in front of the other. Dennis gives her a grim smile in support, while across the room JD simply stares with mild interest.

 _No one can kill you, not yet,_ she reminds herself, but honestly facing the Gamemakers, who are defining her entire life by a number between 1 and 12, feels like a death sentence just as brutal as the reaping.

At the reaping, the odds had been in her favour and she had still lost, here they distinctly are not.

xxx

The atmosphere in the testing room is the opposite of the one in the cafeteria next door. Here, the Gamemakers are heartily enjoying their feast, drinking deeply, not a care in the world, not even for the girl who has just entered the room. It seems like she's the only one aware that they are about to decide the trajectory of her life.

It hits her suddenly that, after spending several days hanging around with her inevitable murderers, the people in front of her are worse. They'll never touch her, not physically, but they are her killers, even more so than the ones who will happily plunge a knife into her heart.

In a way it's good they're not paying attention to her, she can barely stand their eyes on her at all.

Nevertheless, they may also be the key to her survival, so instead she introduces herself, shoots them a coy smile (which seems to get the attention of a few of the older male Gamemakers), and then selects a knife. She does her best to display everything she's just been taught, plunging the knife into the dummy where various arteries would be located, like she's making boots and fighting a particularly stubborn piece of leather.

By the time she's done, the dummy has a lot of holes and a slit throat. She just hopes the Gamemakers don't take the fact the dummy would be harder to kill if it was fighting back into account. She runs a couple of laps to prove she's able to run away, just in case.

And then it's over. She's dismissed as suddenly as she arrived.

xxx

Dinner is a quiet affair. And by that she means Pauline tries to make it as loud an affair as possible, but even Brad seems distracted. She wonders if he, like her, is replaying his moves in front of the Gamemakers again and again, wondering what he could have done better.

Probably not, that would require more brain power than he possesses.

Pauline, in her excitement, switches the TV on fifteen minutes early, so they are forced to endure a series of mindless interviews with Capitol celebrities (God knows what they're famous for, even if the shows they're in were on in District 8 she would have made a point to never watch them), as they go on and on about what they're going to wear for the pre-Games parties.

By the time the scoring starts, she's almost looking forward to it.

As always, it goes by order of districts, so she gets the joy of seeing the Career's shiny scores before her own disappointment.

And sure enough, Ram Sweeny and Heather McNamara from District 1 get a 10 and 9 respectively. David Remington from District 2 also gets a 10. Heather Chandler, however, gets an 11. Pauline gasps and Brad gives a low whistle, an 11 is unusually high, even for Careers, the girl is deadly.

There is a brief interlude in the Careers for District 3 where she sees Peter get a far less remarkable 5 and, heart sinking, sees that Betty has got a 4, before remembering the girl had pretty much signed her death warrant anyway by refusing to kill.

Kurt Kelly, the male Career from 4, gets a 9 but Heather Duke only gets an 8. Not bad by any means, but it signals her out as the lowest of the Careers, Veronica imagines she's cursing herself for that result.

She watches silently as the TV shows the pictures and scores for the tributes from 5, 6 and 7, vaguely noting Rodney's 5, she holds her breath. They are next.

Brad's face flashes up on the screen along with his number, and Pauline shrieks, "An 8! An 8! That's as good as the Careers! Oh, you'll go so far Brad, I'm so proud of you."

To Brad's credit, he looks as embarrassed as he should when Pauline hugs him.

Her score flashes up next. A 6. It's not Brad's 8, so Pauline barely spares her a glance, but it's perfectly respectable – she'll probably get a sponsor or two from that.

Cecelia rests a hand on her shoulder, "Well done Veronica," she says, "it's a promising score."

She's probably pandering to her a bit, but she's grateful. Still, she doesn't take her eyes off the TV, as it flicks through a few more unremarkable scores, she's waiting for the only one that she really cares about.

Finally, JD's face flashes up on the screen, she holds her breath, waiting for the score to follow. It's a 5. Less than hers (though far better than his district partner's 2 that flashes up next). She should feel relieved, but all her brain is doing is playing her every time a low scorer won the Games. It's well known the scores aren't very good at judging endurance, or intelligence. A score like that and you're less likely to have people buy you gifts in the arena but you're under the radar, the Careers won't bother with you, which can easily work to your favour if you know how to use it – and she's sure that he does. In fact, she wouldn't have put it past him to have downplayed his skills to deliberately get this outcome.

Somewhere, back in the living room, she hears the pop of a champagne cork. Pauline hands a flute to Brad and then one to her.

"To a District 8 victory!" she cries, far too jovially for one whose tributes received middlingly good scores, but Veronica smiles weakly and downs it anyway.

There's some relief in having it all over with. One more aspect of her ever-shortening life that she can't worry about changing. That's it, she's trained, judged and with more than two whole days to rest her weary muscles until they are put to the test. There's nothing she can do to help herself anymore, she may as well enjoy being prettied up and interviewed, all the while living in the most luxury she's ever experienced.

She takes another sip of champagne and tries to forget about what is to come.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: The Training Scores for the 89th Annual Hunger Games**

**District 1  
** Heather McNamara – 9  
Ram Sweeny – 10

 **District 2  
** Heather Chandler – 11  
David Remington – 10

 **District 3  
** Betty Finn – 4  
Peter Dawson – 5

 **District 4  
** Heather Duke – 8  
Kurt Kelly – 9

 **District 5  
** Shannon Lucas – 6  
Rodney Bulb – 5

 **District 6  
** Cathy Stone – 3  
Al Springer – 5

 **District 7  
** Tracy Hophead – 3  
Bobby Young – 3

 **District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer – 6  
Brad Richards – 8

 **District 9  
** Courtney Chadwick – 7  
Keith Harrington – 6

 **District 10  
** Shelly Little – 2  
Dennis Grundy – 5

 **District 11  
** Phyllis McCarthy – 6  
Dwight Archer – 4

 **District 12**  
Martha Dunstock – 2  
Jason Dean – 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little less action this chapter, but trust me, this is all set up for when all hell breaks loose, which isn't far away now…
> 
> Some important shit goes down in the next chapter too so look out for that :D
> 
> Also, I am planning on doing NaNoWriMo this year (write a 50,000 word novel in November), which I'm very excited about. I'm going to do a Heathers sequel that is also a murder mystery, which I think will be a lot of fun. I have it all planned out so hopefully I will finish and publish when I'm done.
> 
> My account is here if you want to check how I’m doing or be my writing buddy (I think you need an account to view the page): https://nanowrimo.org/participants/deeplyshallow


	4. Interview Prep Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song bingo is so easy this time it’s almost cheating.

Pauline drags them out of bed just as early as usual, even though the weapon training sessions are over, with absolutely no respect for Veronica's aching muscles.

"Another type of training today!" She announces, much too merrily for seven-thirty in the morning, "you've shown them your moves, now you need to show Panem your personality."

Brad's asked to do interview training separately, which she suspects is less to do with any secret depths, and more to do with not having to bother talking to her. Which is fine, she doesn't want to be distracted by listening to his idiotic remarks either.

Pauline, much to her relief, has already decided to focus on Brad and has enlisted Garfunkel to help her with this challenge. This leaves Veronica with the much gentler and down to earth Cecelia, who pours her a cup of coffee and sits them both down in one of the several sitting areas in the apartment.

As it's still too early for Veronica to speak in any language that isn't grunting, ("Don't worry, I understand, I have teenagers," says Cecelia), they spend the first couple of hours on poise: how to walk on stage, how to hold herself, how to smile and just generally how to use the cameras to her advantage.

That part Veronica passes with flying colours, the skills don't necessarily come naturally to her, but she's always been quite good at imitating other people, working out what they like and how to make sure it works best for her. Often she used this just to not stick out at school, but now sticking out is the plan and, weirdly enough, the same philosophy applies.

Actually speaking proves harder. First, it's tone of voice, she needs to sound quietly confident, even when she isn't, and she definitely needs to stop babbling. Babbling, Cecelia tells her, not only gives the Capitol far too much information that she doesn't need them to know, but very much shows that she's nervous.

"I don't know why you're bothering," she moans as the Avoxes bring in sandwiches with exotic meats on pure white bread for lunch, "I'm clearly not going to win, no one's going to bother sponsoring me."

"Oh Veronica, you mustn't think like that, of course you'll get sponsors," Cecelia says, "Just do your best, show them why it's you they want to survive."

"There isn't a reason for them to want that."

"Of course there is. You're clever, fast, share many people's hate for overbearing escorts and are quick to pick things up – I was watching you in the Training Centre. I like you, make sure other people do too."

"How?"

"What are your hobbies?"

"Umm, I like to draw and design, I like to write…"

"Fantastic! Why don't you tell us a story then? Tell us what it's like back home, tell us what you want to design and how, if you win, you might be able to do what you never dreamed you could.."

Cecelia is a kind woman, she thinks. Her youngest must be the same age as her, but she shows no gratitude that it's Veronica going to her death and not her daughter. She's never had much to do with the victors before. It's different, with them living in the Victor's Village, getting to do hobbies and home-school their kids, while the rest of the district break their backs in the sweltering hot factories.

Cecelia won a decade and a half before she was born, but she can remember Garfunkel's win, six years ago. It was a good year, with parties funded by the Capitol and Package Days, where they were all given extra food to celebrate his victory. It broke the usual monotony and constant feeling of being slightly underfed that they all normally experienced, but even then it was all soon forgotten. Garfunkel retreated to his easy life as a winner and the rest of their district to their usual hard lives. It's easy, seeing them go to a constant stream of Capitol events, to think the victors are more Capitol than district, but as she talks to her, Veronica knows Cecelia does not feel that way at all.

It's not as brutal as she expected, talking about her life and dreams. Cecelia proves feedback as she spins a story for the Capitol to eat up, as if she really believes the ridiculous notion that she could win. It's a pretty fantasy. It would be an enviable position to be able to design fancy dresses, maybe even wear them. She'd like it, having Cecelia to guide her through being a victor, to have a friend to help her understand what that new life would be like. Maybe Cecelia too would like the company.

It's a shame it will never happen.

By mid-afternoon, Cecelia is happy with her progress.

"We'll do one more run through in the evening, but what you need now is some rest. Take a bit of a walk, clear your head, God knows you'll not get a break from the beauty team tomorrow," She says, with the weariness of someone who has experienced far too many overly talkative Capitol beauticians.

xxx

Veronica already spends half of her nights pacing her room, and half of the apartment is restricted for Brad's training, so instead she takes the elevator downstairs.

The Training Hall looks strange, almost eerie, now it is no longer full of weapons and people. She gets a slushy from the automatic minibar in the corner, which, according to the cup, is "guaranteed to freeze your brain!" – which feels appropriately numbing for the situation, then wanders round the area aimlessly. She spots one or two other tributes doing the same, also relishing the last time they'll not be watched by the whole of the country. But they do not acknowledge her, nor she them.

So she's surprised when she hears someone running up to her. She turns to see Betty grasp her hand, eyes burning with a fierce determination so different from the quiet, sad, look she wore yesterday.

"Veronica, I'm so glad I caught you. I need to talk to you."

Betty leads her to a small courtyard behind the kitchens, all the while looking around for cameras. The area is clearly meant for staff, it has overflowing bins, empty food boxes and a few broken weapons. She's not quite as confident that they are away from the cameras as JD seemed the other day, but it's certainly an area less monitored.

"I have a plan."

This is the first time she's seen the girl look so serious but, stripped of its usual levity, Betty's voice is urgent, "We don't fight. The moment we enter the arena all of us: you, me, Rodney, Peter, Dennis and anyone else we can get to agree, step out before the first minute ends, setting off the mines that go off if you leave the start point too early – it'll be almost painless and we'll remain innocent."

Veronica is a little underwhelmed, "So we still die."

"I didn't say it was perfect, but at least it's a statement, the whole of Panem will know what we did and maybe enough will know why – it might even spark something in them."

_It wouldn't have ever sparked something in me,_ she thinks, bitterly.

It's not that she liked her life working for the almighty Capitol, it's just she was, well she was indifferent really. It sucked, obviously, and it's not like she hadn't spent the odd night fantasising the ways she could take them down, but she's always valued being alive more than dying a martyr for a better future. It was always easy to ignore the two children being dragged away annually for the slaughter. She'd never known any of the tributes, so the only way it impacted her was a couple of weeks of grisly TV (at least it was a break from the monotony of normal District 8 life.)

Obviously, all of these reasons not to fight are now rapidly falling away.

Maybe there is something in Betty's idea.

She ponders it, it would be an easy death, a painless death. A route that would surely be easier, more meaningful than choosing to stay alive. But, even as she thinks about it, her stomach twists in knots and she feels slightly nauseous. Somehow calmly taking a step and simply dying is a much more terrifying thought than being hunted and wounded, until her body has no choice but to surrender.

She doesn't want to show them she's not a pawn, she realises, she wants to live.

"Don't you feel it's a little extreme? I mean, there have been years when all the Careers have died in a freak accident and suddenly it's all to play for, for everyone else."

But Betty shakes her head, "I can't do it, even if I thought I might win, I can't. Think of what a monster you become if you survive even a few days, even if you don't kill anyone you'll be cheering as each cannon goes off simply because it isn't you."

She's not wrong, but it's a lot to give up, to make a sacrifice too noble to be expected of someone reaped.

Her life might suck now, but at least she exists.

"Do you believe there's a life after death?" She asks.

Betty hesitates, "I think so, I mean there must be. If this is all we get, even when we do what is right, then that's a pretty bleak existence."

Veronica isn't sure that a bleak existence isn't pretty much the point of life, but an afterlife is a nice thought, if she ever manages to con her way into the same place Betty clearly deserves to be in.

"I'm not sure there's a God though, I can't imagine an all-powerful being just letting this happen."

_If there was any semblance of a fair God he'd have long ago sent a plague to kill everyone in the Capitol and let us be free_ , she thinks, though she can't quite dismiss the idea of one who enjoys looking down and watching his creations suffering.

Betty's right, this is the easiest, most painless, way out. This is the only choice offered to them that could vaguely make a difference.

Veronica smiles sadly, "I guess we'll find out soon enough." She takes a deep breath, "Ok, let's do it."

She doesn't know if she is lying.

Betty pulls her into a tight hug. "Thank you, Ronnie," she mutters in her ear, "you've made the last few days bearable. See you on the other side."

Veronica doesn't respond, just holds her even closer, burying her head in Betty's shoulder. Somehow saying goodbye to this girl, who she's known for less than a week, is harder than it was saying goodbye to her parents and friends at home. She wonders if this is the last show of genuine affection she will ever receive.

Once she has left her friend's warmth the world feels even colder.

xxx

She sits there for a while, stirring her now melted slushy, not really knowing what to do with herself. Thinking about life and death and greater meanings, and how Betty Finn is just a better person than her, before she ambles back to the Training Hall.

He's there, by the elevator, when she enters the room. He's leaning idly against a wall, cigarette between his lips, as if he's been waiting for her. Maybe he has. She seriously considers turning around right there so she doesn't have to face him.

Is it weird to feel almost shy around someone she's been intimate with? Does it even count as intimacy if she feels like she knows him no better than she did before? She bites the bullet and walks towards him. He grins at her, as if he has heard all of her internal debate.

"Turns out those minibars don't just give drinks." He says, gesturing to the cigarette, he pulls a second out of his pocket and offers it to her.

She raises her eyebrows, places it between her lips and leans forward to let him light it, "Smoking kills." she mutters.

He snorts, "My dear Veronica, I would never seek to kill you this inefficiently," he takes another drag, "Our days are already numbered, what's left but to indulge our vices?"

He's not wrong, and he's just as hot as before she fucked him, so she leans back on the wall next to him and takes a drag.

"So," he says, "A 6. Not too bad for a girl from 8."

She scoffs, "It's hardly noticed when your idiot of a district partner gets an 8."

"'Idiot' being the keyword there. Tributes like that never win, they choose the wrong side, then their pride gets the best of them."

"Because you're as modest as they come."

"I know where I am superior to my fellow tributes, that's not arrogance, just tactics. Just like you, practicing saying pretty words, so you can pretend you don't detest the people you're saying them to."

There are cameras, she is sure of it, and microphones picking up every blasphemous word that comes out of his mouth. She feels a streak of annoyance that he is involving her in this at all, "Like you aren't doing the same."

"Haymitch refused to mentor me. I'd flatter myself that it was because I'm more competent than Martha, but everyone knows that she could give the best interview in the history of the Games and it would be a lost cause. He just doesn't like me."

With anyone else, she'd assure them this wasn't the case, but he's probably right, so she remains silent and takes another drag of her cigarette.

They stay that way for a while, leaning against the Training Centre wall, smoking in what is almost contented silence.

Then, without warning, he is in front of her, plucking the cigarette out of her mouth and planting his hands on the wall on either side of her. He takes a step towards her, so their faces are inches apart.

Despite the fact she could easily slip away, she feels trapped by him. Her traitorous blood moves south, remembering the last time they were in this position.

"The thing is, Veronica," he says, lips turned away from the cameras, "the secret they don't want you to know is, even if you're the victor, they still win. You don't start a revolution by pretty words or making sure other people like you. You win by hitting them when they don't think they can lose."

She hesitates, because she trusts him none, but the one thing she knows is he will not tell the Capitol, and then mutters into his ear, "There's been talk," she says, carefully, "of a group suicide at the beginning of the Games, to show the Capitol they can't decide our fates."

He snorts, "Betty Finn and her little geek club won't make a tiny bit of difference. It's not like anyone thought they would win anyway."

"But everyone will know what they did, that they didn't play to the Capitol's plans of watching their deaths for fun, it'll make a statement." She doesn't like how much her words sound like a question.

"It'll make less of a statement when they publicly hang the rest of their families for their children's insubordination."

"You're making that up."

For a second, she sees something dangerous flicker across his face. "I'm just saying, if you really want to make a statement, there are much better ways to do it than blowing yourself up before they realise your power." he says and then walks away infuriatingly, before she has a chance to even attempt to grasp what he means.

"Until we meet again, Veronica Sawyer," he says over his shoulder, "stay alive."

She lets her head flop back until it hits the wall. She definitely needs to stop going for guys who think they're edgy.

xxx

She's distracted all through her final practice, but Cecelia puts it down to tiredness and nerves (and doesn't once wonder if it's because she's thinking about not trying to win at all) and sends her for an early night.

Veronica lies in the dark for a long time, thoughts swirling around her head.

If she looks at it rationally, it's obvious which of the two viewpoints she's been presented with today is the correct one to follow. One is a solid plan, makes use of the little power she has, and makes a statement. The other is little more than an insult towards Betty and a fantasy, based on who the fuck knows what, that she'll be able to do anything more in the Games than be horrifically murdered by the particularly scary Careers who volunteered this year.

If she follows Betty, in less than two days she will be dead. Dead, but still as innocent as before she was reaped. She will not win but she will not suffer the way the other losers likely will. The idea is both repulsive, but also highly logical. After all, what is another couple of terrible days on this shitty planet really going to do? Betty's right, neither of them are going to be victors.

…And yet, there's that little voice in the back of her head that keeps bugging her, what if JD is right? What if she has more of a chance than she thinks? It's a silly thought, stupid really. Why is she believing something told to her by a boy she trusts perhaps even less than the rest of her competitors?

But she could try, couldn't she? What does she have to lose?

Only her humanity, only her everything.

Still, in a moment of weakness, just before she drifts off to sleep, she allows herself, just for a second, to think about JD's statement. To imagine that her winning isn't just a lie she's planning to tell the Capitol tomorrow, to have the Capitol cheer her name as she exits the arena, to live in luxury for the rest of her life in an ivy-covered house in the Victor's Village, to be able to draw and design rather than work on a production line in a factory, to have her name written down in history books. It's appealing, so much more appealing than a quick and violent death.

She does her best to push what she has to do to get this out of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nanowrimo is going well! I have 12,800 words written for my Heathers murder mystery. Which is over a quarter of my 50,000 word goal! I can’t wait to share it with you all.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who comments on this fic. It makes my day and is very much appreciated :)


	5. Interview Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last pre-arena chapter. ~~And the last chapter where everyone is alive.~~
> 
> Song bingo: Three songs – two have turned up before, one is new. 
> 
> ALSO: chxrryb0mb has made a lovely cover for this fic, check it out on chapter 1!

Veronica gazes into the mirror, trying to recognise the girl who is staring back at her.

Her face is blemish-free, the celebrity-class styling and makeup make her eyelashes look at least twice their length, her lips shine and her skin glows in a way that looks almost airbrushed.

Her hair, normally hanging so it just brushes her shoulders, has been curled and done up in an elaborate bun at the back of her head, multiple brightly coloured hairpins placed in it in an allusion to her district. Her nails have been filed into perfect curves and painted a shade of sparkling midnight blue.

Her floor-length gown, perhaps the most impressive of all, is an overlapping patchwork of complementary but different coloured silky fabrics that, at a distance, mix together to form a glistening blue. It's the kind of thing she could have barely dreamed of having a part in making, never mind wearing.

She twirls and poses, admiring the result of an entire day of her prep team's work at every angle. She looks a little like a peacock, but a very beautiful peacock, so she guesses that's ok.

It doesn't look like her, it doesn't feel like her, it's as if all of this is happening to the beautiful girl in the mirror and she's watching from a distance, from a small television back at her parents' flat. She could be there with them right now, cramped, a bit hungry, slightly cold, safe.

Cecelia pokes her head round the door, "We're ready to go."

She closes her eyes for a second, the reality of the situation sinking back in.

Cecelia walks over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Are you feeling ready?" she asks gently.

"No." she says.

"No," says Cecelia quietly, "I guess you wouldn't be." She pauses, "Do you have a district token to take into the arena?"

Veronica shakes her head, in all honesty she didn't even think about bringing something from home until she broke out of her initial shock and was already halfway to the Capitol. Even then, she wouldn't have known what to bring, her monocle would probably be seen as something that might give her a minor advantage (it really wouldn't have), and her diary would have been out of the question.

"Have this then," says Cecelia, taking a handkerchief out of her pocket, "it was my token when I won, maybe it will give you luck too."

Veronica unfolds it, the handkerchief is carefully embroidered with one of the nicer District 8 skylines, it smells like home. She looks up at Cecelia, blinking a wayward tear out of her eye (if she ruins her makeup her makeover team will kill her before the Careers get a chance), "Thank you."

Cecelia smiles genuinely, before placing a hand on her back and guiding her to the main room of the apartment, "The interview will be fine, just focus on emphasising your strengths and why you want to win, and I'll make sure Pauline is fair with the donations you get in the arena."

Veronica smiles appreciatively and nods, despite her creeping doubts. Cecelia, though slightly pudgy in middle age and after three kids, still has the strong legs and wiry form of an athlete. She was by far the fastest runner in her Games, and it was enough to keep her from being caught and dodge the manoeuvres of her attackers in the climax. Garfunkel is big and built like a wrestler, Veronica knows the clips of him defeating his opponents well (God knows the District 8 TVs haven't stopped playing them since), he made it look completely effortless, something Pauline is clearly hoping Brad will replicate. She's none of these things. Her only trait is that she isn't stupid, and only JD feels like that is much of a skill against people who could kill her with their bare hands.

In the main room, Pauline is still fiddling with Brad's tie and muttering something about first impressions getting him even more sponsors (as if his stylist wouldn't have spent enough time making it perfect). Brad's sporting a similar style to her, his blazer, tie and pants a mix of colours that together form a blue, but is wearing a white dress shirt underneath. He nods at her in greeting, clearly nearly as frustrated as her at Pauline's fussing, she ignores him and they ride the elevator down in silence.

The ground floor is a bustle of staff, mentors and stylists getting the tributes positioned to go on stage. Before she is hastily pulled into her place in the queue she casts her eyes over the Careers, all smugly huddled together, the boys showing off their muscles, the girls pointing and laughing at the girls dresses they don't like (she takes pride in the fact hers apparently gets their approval).

Heather Chandler and David are dressed in bright reds, oranges and yellows. The idea is clearly meant to invoke thoughts of lava and all the fire, anger and power that goes with it. It's a bit of a jump from masonry to volcanos, but the result is no doubt effective.

Heather Duke, is wearing a skin-tight green dress that shimmers as she walks and shows off her (obviously fake) boobs. Her auburn hair, threaded with seashells, tumbles down her back and her makeup is vivid and alluring. It is obvious her designer has been inspired by the myth of the sirens. Their depiction of a beautiful creature, ready to lure foolish humans to their death, is very convincing and Veronica cannot resist staring at it for a little longer than necessary. Kurt dressed as Poseidon is a little uncreative, but he wields an elaborately decorated spear with enough fierceness that he'll doubtless get some sponsors who want to see him put it into full use in the arena (and some more sponsors from those who appreciate him topless).

Heather McNamara is dressed head to foot in gold and diamonds. Unlike the two other Heathers, the garment is clearly meant to show off her beauty and her district's wealth, rather than any fighting skills, but it looks no less impressive. Ram's wearing a pinstriped suit encrusted with diamonds.

Veronica's entry does not go entirely unnoticed, the tributes are all sussing out each other's costumes as a new one enters the fray, but from the looks some of the girls are shooting her, (the girl from 9, whose own dress is less than fantastic, actually scoffs in annoyance), her dress is particularly appealing.

She sees Kurt nudge Ram and whisper something to him, they both look Veronica up and down and leer at the cleavage revealed by her low neckline. She ignores them and the shiver it sends down her spine. Still, better that than them planning her death. God, if she'd known back in District 8 how much hot male attention she'd get by being prettied up in the Games, she might have tried her luck more beforehand.

She bets some of the bitches back at school are jealous.

"Line up in district order, female tributes in front of males!" shouts one of the hosts through a megaphone, and the Careers reluctantly shuffle into position with an even more reluctant looking Betty and Peter sandwiched in the middle. The hosts grab them roughly by the shoulders, making sure they're standing evenly, and hiss instructions as if they're cattle in line for the slaughterhouse.

"Where's 12?" she hears one of them say. But, no sooner have the words been said, JD and Martha arrive. They exit the elevator unaccompanied and, without much fuss, take their place at the back of the queue.

JD, for once, does not seem to be paying much attention to her. Instead, he's talking to Martha, his face softer than she's ever seen it. He puts his arm around her shoulders, the perfect imitation of genuinely comforting her but, the moment she looks away, the cold calculating look he always wears returns.

It's an odd change of events, because she hasn't seen him show any interest in Martha in the last few days. Even as he took note of her every move, he's regarded Martha with the same casual disinterest as he had everyone else. Well, everyone except her. She interested him.

 _What are you planning?_ She wonders, _What do you want with Martha? What do you want with me?_ Maybe if she's lucky she'll never have the chance to find out.

The loud blare of trumpets playing the National Anthem distract her from her thoughts. She is prompted to follow the other tributes as they are paraded onto the stage and take their seats.

The audience gasps as they make their first appearance on camera, as if they have come to see contestants in Miss Panem, rather than eyeing up which gladiator they can put their money behind.

She imagines she is a citizen of the Capitol, who has waited all year to see the stunning new outfits, deciding, on the back of such things, who she will help live. It would be easy, she thinks, when your life is so luxurious that you can't imagine suffering, to see this as a fashion show, rather than a parade of the damned. She caters to them, not showing an inch of fear as she holds her head up high, once she is seated she smiles and gives a delicate wave in a way that best shows off the colours of her dress.

The camera lingers on them for a good few minutes, gently sweeping from tribute to tribute, to give some detailed close ups, before it finally draws back. Caesar, the Capitol's favourite interviewer, walks onto the stage (hair dyed black with streaks of gold this year) to rapturous applause and he calls Heather McNamara for her interview.

When it comes to being questioned, the Heathers are all much of a muchness. They play up different angles, of course; Heather Chandler is fierce, ruthless and a natural leader, Heather Duke is cunning and Heather McNamara is sexy (a trait which, unfortunately, might go miles in terms of sponsors). Really, it's just the typical Career interview – they're the best in their district, they can use all the weapons ever invented on the planet and they are prepared to kill anyone in the way of their inevitable victory.

Caesar asks the District 5 girl if she's sure her name isn't Heather too. _Hilarious._ Betty had gotten away with a simple, "Oh that's a nice change!" after the first two Heathers. In a silver dress, covered in twinkling white LEDs, Betty had smiled and laughed and seemed almost at peace with herself now her decision had been made. (Veronica felt a streak of envy towards her friend's certainty, as she pushed the decision she has to make tomorrow to the back of her mind. _Let's focus on getting through this first._ )

Peter had not been so calm, his eyes flitted from side to side, and many of his replies were umms and errs, even as Caesar tried to make him comfortable. Part of her worried that he was going to give Betty's plan away on the spot.

Ram and Kurt barely speak, communicating mostly by flexing their muscles and boasting about their high training scores. David is slightly more talkative but only to assure everyone that he's the oldest, most experienced and is absolutely certain he's destined to win, (when it is mentioned that it was his district partner that got the highest training score, he snaps that they don't mean anything in the reality of the arena).

When Al takes the seat he waves off questions about his mediocre training score and instead talks about how much he'd love to go home, of his friends and girlfriend. Veronica had been dubious about whether this super-hot girlfriend really existed, but the way he talks about trying to go home for her, blinking too frequently to have completely dry eyes, makes her decide he's either telling the truth or is a movie worthy actor.

She watches, mildly amused, as Caesar tries to get something useful from the girl from 7, who is clearly wishing she was high, and keeps turning everything into an elaborate metaphor about putting dynamite up a lion's butt. She tries not to listen too hard as the girl's 12 year old district partner, (so tiny he looks about nine,) shakes and stammers his way through his interview.

Then it's her turn.

She tries to pull herself together. This is what all the interview prep the last two days has been about. This is her last chance to win herself a tiny lifeboat before she is thrown out into open waters.

She smiles and waves, just as Cecelia taught her to, then gently lifts up her dress and walks (mostly) gracefully onto the stage.

"Miss Veronica Sawyer," says Caesar, immediately, "what a beautiful dress that is!"

Veronica smiles, "Well, what can I say? This is talent worthy of District 8 right here, it's the sort of thing I would love to be good enough to design one day…" and she segues into what she practiced with Cecelia, her love of designing, her hopes that if she were a victor she could design her own dresses like this.

It's not a stunning speech but, when she steals a glance at the giant screen of the crowd, no one seems too bored either.

"So Veronica, tell us about the 6 you scored in training," says Caesar, when the subject runs dry, "Any clues to a secret talent of yours?"

Veronica shrugs, "Well let's just say in District 8 you have a lot of practice welding sharp metal objects to create maximum impact."

Caesar laughs raucously, and there are a few chuckles from the audience. It's not a bad comment, but there are fifteen seconds left on the clock, and she hasn't really stood out. She needs something else, something to finish on to make sure she's not forgotten in the rabble of middling scores.

"But," she says, "what I do have, what they couldn't test in the training session is brains."

"Oooh a smart one, tell us more."

She feels JD's eyes on her as she answers, "It's not brawn that wins the Games, its strategy, use the right technique and strength isn't going to help you at all." She looks straight at the camera, "Just wait, you'll see."

A moment later the buzzer goes off.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Veronica Sawyer!" The claps as she leaves the stage are not particularly loud, but they're not too tepid either. She slumps back down in her chair, glad the attention is no longer on her, puts her fitted smile back on and listens to the remaining interviews. When she sneaks a glance at JD he is smiling smugly, as if he's won something.

Brad plays tough – tells Caesar with great certainty that you absolutely do not need to be a Career to win and that his hard life in District 8 has only trained him to be tougher. He then spends a while going on about how much of an honour it would be to win for District 8, so everyone will know the strength and bravery of his district, and even if he dies he would be glad to die representing his home. As Pauline Fleming gives Brad a loud cheer, Veronica has to suppress the urge to laugh. God, if Brad ends up winning she is going to fucking kill herself.

The girl from 9, Courtney, is probably the most impressive of the next few interviews, despite her out of fashion dress. She got a 7 in training and the brash arrogance she can pull from that is almost enough to hide her fear.

Dennis isn't quite as calm as Betty, but he has a certain laid-back air to his conversation. He's clearly made his decision too.

Martha, in an ill-fitting black dress (the designer clearly hadn't anticipated someone of her size coming from 12), looks like she's about to cry all the way through her interview. Veronica would pity her if she wasn't filled with relief at one tiny weak point in her almost inevitable death sentence.

JD is also wearing pure black, clearly 12's designer wasn't the most creative, but his suit is well fitted and accents his already well-proportioned body, drawing attention away from how underfed he looks. She doesn't know if it's drawn the attention of the audience, but God knows it's drawn hers.

There's no fear in him as he walks upon the stage, but he also doesn't show the same brash confidence the Careers had either. If anything, he takes his seat the way Betty did, as if it doesn't matter how the interview goes.

When Caesar greets him he smiles with an unsettling charm, as if he's privy to a joke no one else is.

Once the formalities are done, Caesar gets down to business, "So Jason, you volunteered, I must say I was surprised, that's highly unusual in District 12. Will you tell us why?"

"What can I say? How else would I get my chance to see the wonders of the Capitol?"

If Caesar is taken aback he doesn't show it, "And who can blame you! We do love giving our tributes a taste of life here. So tell me Jason, is it everything you expected?"

"Exactly."

Caesar waits for JD to expand, but he doesn't, "Good to hear! It must be all incredible to see all this luxury as a boy from 12."

"It's not often that people from 12 get a chance to be heard from."

"And now you're on national TV! Are you enjoying your shot at fame then?"

"No one wants to die forgotten."

She thinks she sees a flicker of unease on Caesar's face, but the crowds are lapping it up, and he continues, "So you're going to make sure you give us a memorable show?"

JD gazes down, eyes sweeping over the crowd and then the tributes, pausing on her for a fraction of a second longer than everyone else. The contrast of his pale skin against the dark hair and suit, makes her think of a vampire, biding his time before he prepares to devour his victims.

He grins, "Trust me. No one in the Capitol is going to see anything like it again."


	6. Arena Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s what you’ve all been waiting for (maybe)! Enjoy your last moments with your favourites!
> 
> Nano: I hit 40,000 words last night. It needs a hell of an edit but it still exists!
> 
> Song Bingo: 1 repeat, 1 new

Sleep does not come easily on the final night in the Training Centre.

Pauline practically pushes them into their rooms straight after the interviews, extolling the virtues of a good night's rest for improving one's fighting skills (she's willing to bet Pauline has never been in a fight that involves anything more than slapping a girl who was making out with her boyfriend) but she doesn't feel tired at all. She doesn't drink anything, because even she's not stupid enough to enter the arena with a hangover, but that only makes it all the more impossible to settle. She rolls over again and again, every time she manages to drift off she wakes up moments later with a start.

Eventually, she thinks she's got a couple of hours sleep, but when she wakes up the room is still dark. She checks the clock, still another hour until she needs to be up. She climbs out of bed anyway, pacing the room, trying to work out what to do with her last free moments. She orders ridiculous food at the minibar, but finds she feels sick after eating a bite. She tries to read, but she can't focus on one book and all the junk on the bookshelf is Capitol garbage. She wants to write, but it may be a little late to start her memoir and anyway, all she can think to write about is treason.

In the end, she just looks out the window and watches the sun rise on a skyline that is so different from the one at home. In 8 it is all chimneys and smoke. Here, the buildings are funky shaped and weirdly coloured, their roofs glistening; silver, gold, bronze, one even bright purple. She imagines what it must be like to live in one of these buildings, to be waking up full of excitement to watch an event you have waited for all year, an event where you know you won't die…

It is almost a relief when she hears Pauline's knock at the door.

The arena is a hovercraft ride away. This, as Pauline joyously informs Brad and Veronica, is an amazing privilege, "They hardly ever allow hovercrafts over the Capitol anymore, it's some sort of security issue. The normal folk only have bullet trains to get around, but lucky us! We get a journey!"

_Lucky us, and lucky our corpses when we get collected from the arena!_

A woman in a Capitol uniform injects a tracker in their arms, searches them and then guides them onboard. From the moment Veronica takes a step inside, it's clear the machine is built for luxury. It's a spacious device with multiple rooms, some with see-through floors (presumably so you can watch the landscape go by beneath your feet), but they are led to a smaller room with velvet sofas and ebony hardwood floors.

There is breakfast on the table but, like before, she can only pick at it. Across the room Brad is doing much the same. She wonders vaguely if she should enjoy her first time flying, but really all she can think about is how the next time she flies she won't be alive to appreciate it.

They land with barely a bump, there's a hiss and the doors slide open. They take an elevator to a place below the arena. There are two doors in front of them, each have signs with gold writing, _Brad Richards: District 8, Veronica Sawyer: District 8._

"Well this is goodbye then," tinkles Pauline, giving Veronica a small hug and Brad a rather bigger, longer one, "may the odds be ever in your favour!" and then with a final kiss on the cheek to Brad (which may be the reason he's looking so queasy), she's gone.

Veronica and Brad look at each other awkwardly.

"Uh, good luck I suppose," he says, "we want a District 8 victory."

Slightly stunned, she shakes his outstretched hand, because who knows, there still might be cameras watching, but doesn't reply.

Her stylist is waiting for her through the door. He helps her put on her arena clothes, sporty undergarments, sturdy pants and a breathable, long-sleeved shirt - all a greeny, grey camouflage colour. She ties her hair up, stuffs Cecelia's handkerchief into her pocket and tries to take in what her stylist is saying about the clothes, but fails miserably.

There is a long tone, and then a voice comes from a speaker by the door, "The arena is ready. Tributes, please get into your pods."

For a wild moment Veronica wants to say no, to just refuse to move or better, run, but there's nowhere else for her to go, not anymore. So instead she lets her legs guide her to the pod in the corner of the room and closes her eyes as she feels it lifting her up, savouring her last few moments before she enters a place she'll likely never leave.

The lift stops and there's a booming in her ears, "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 89th Hunger Games begin!"

xxx

She feels the breeze against her face before she opens her eyes. It smells weird; fresh, unlike the car fumes of the Capitol or the general smog of home. She can hear birdsong in the distance, and a rustling sound that is perhaps the movement of a larger animal (whether it is predator or prey doesn't bear thinking about).

It takes a second or two to adjust to the light. The weather is sunny but not unpleasantly warm. Around them on every side is thick woodland and opposite her, in the distance, she can see craggy mountains. She can't see any water, but there's bound to be some nearby and maybe, maybe, she can find some further away in the forest.

The Cornucopia stands glistening in the middle of the arena, its mouth filled to the brim with scary-looking weapons, mouth-watering food and an actual real tent. Closer to her are more measly looking weapons, packets of chips and small backpacks.

She scans the tributes around her, Heather Duke is next to her, looking as savage as ever, and Kurt Kelly is only a tribute away on the other side.

_Fuck._

The other Careers are far enough away that they pose less risk, but she searches for the other threat. JD is five or six tributes away, grinning right at her.

She feels herself hyperventilating. This is too much, all of this, she's going to die, painfully, right now. In a matter of moments she'll be nothing but a two second clip in the victor's video, a footnote in the history books.

As her eyes continue to sweep the tributes she finds Betty a couple of tributes away from JD and her heart lurches, suddenly she knows the time for decision is now _._ Here it is, her other option, a chance to give up the illusion that she might survive and do something that stops her from being just forgotten.

Betty's eyes penetrate her and Veronica hears her silent question as if it was shouted in her ear.

_Well, it's not like I have anything to live for._

She looks Betty straight in the eye and agrees. The girl smiles back, a fearless determination in her gaze. Veronica knows that Betty is sure what they are doing is right for the world. Betty's eyes flicker to Rodney, Peter and Dennis and she nods.

Veronica takes one more look at the world. Then her eyes meet JD. He's still looking straight at her, his expression some odd mix of patronising and disappointed. And suddenly every comment about this not meaning anything, about her parents being punished, about how she could win… hits her like a tidal wave

She freezes.

Her best friend takes a step forward.

Veronica does not. Instead, she is statue still, unable to tell whether she can't or won't move.

Their eyes meet and she sees Betty take it in, there's confusion in her gaze, maybe even hate, but it's hard to tell because a moment later there's a loud bang and suddenly all that is left of Betty Finn is a charred bloody mass. She blinks, trying to take this impossible fact in.

There are another two ear-splitting bangs and Dennis and Rodney are no longer in existence.

She looks around, desperate to distract herself and her eyes meet Peter's. He is frozen like a rabbit in the lamplight. She wonders if she is wearing the same expression of terror. Like her, he doesn't move.

The atmosphere around the arena immediately changes. There's horror painted on a lot of the tributes' faces, most of the Careers are looking at the bloody remains, that used to be real people, with a mixture of shock and anger, Heather Duke looks faintly sick. Veronica's eyes move over to JD, he is carefully scanning the landscape, apparently unfazed, _he's using the distraction to his advantage._ However, she doesn't have time to ponder this thought further as the starting cannon goes off and, predictably, JD is first off the mark, backpack, a large knife and several packets of chips in his hand and gone from the Cornucopia while the rest of them are still staring, stunned.

It only takes a moment for her to regain her wits, she leaves her platform at almost the same time as the Careers and several seconds before Heather Duke.

Veronica Sawyer was never the slowest runner in her class, but she was far from the fastest either, there is no way she can get anywhere near the centre of the Cornucopia. Still, the confusion from the suicides has provided enough of a distraction to allow her to at least have a try at getting something. She races forward and grabs what's nearest to her, a small grey backpack, which she slings over her shoulder and then dashes into the undergrowth of the woodlands, eager to get away.

Though she is not quick enough to avoid seeing Kurt and Ram plunge a knife through the tiny boy from 7, nor David and Brad moving towards an equally small girl...

xxx

She runs. She runs and runs until all sense of time and feeling is lost. She forces herself ever further into the undergrowth, the uneven ground covered with branches and leaves, so different from the smooth concrete and dirt roads at home. She runs until suddenly the woodland goes deadly silent and she pauses intuitively. A boom of a cannon, and then another and then another, eight in total. A cannon shot for each of the dead. Eight people whom she sat beside just yesterday, who she will never see again, eight families watching who are now in mourning.

Or maybe some are being carried in for "questioning" if what JD said is true.

And, more importantly for her, it means the bloodbath is over and the Careers are looking further afield for their next victims.

She runs for what might be another hour, then finally gives in to her parched throat and aching legs and leans against a tree. She pulls open her bag, eyes getting used to the dark as she rummages. Her hand grasps something cool and round.

Water! Yes! The bottle is small but mercifully full. She opens it and drinks a couple of gulps (though her body is crying out for more), before continuing rummaging, there's food - mostly jerky, dried fruit and nuts - but enough for at least tonight, and some matches, which will be invaluable but she will have to be careful about using with the Careers on the prowl.

It's a nice haul, but her heart sinks when she realises what is missing. There's no weapon in the bag. She looks up, screws her eyes shut, breathes through her teeth, before slinging the bag back on her back and continuing further into the forest.

She's in the Hunger Games and has no weapon. The odds have never been in her favour, but at the moment she's a dead girl walking.

She walks and walks, pausing only once in the early afternoon, when she finds a stream. She drinks what's left of her bottle and then refills it, grateful for the reprieve, but she decides she is still too close to the Cornucopia to stop. When the sun is low in the sky and she can walk no more she pushes herself to continue on for another 10 minutes, then finds a thick bush that she can climb into. It's not a particularly good shelter, either from the rain or an eagle eyed Career, but it'll do.

She settles in, trying to find a position where branches don't poke into her back, stuffs some surrounding rocks in her pocket so she can at least throw something at any tribute that comes at her with a foot-long blade, and eats small bites of the food in her bag until her stomach isn't aching with hunger.

Not long after, she hears the unmistakable notes of the Panem Anthem. She adjusts herself so she gets a clear view of the sky, where the pictures of those that died today are being projected.

She forces herself to look at the images. All eight of them. The photos taken in the Training Centre are so different from what they must look like now, some are even smiling. There's the girl from 6, the young boy she saw being stabbed from 7, the even smaller girl from 10 that she saw David and Brad descend upon, and both from 11. Then, of course, there's Rodney, Dennis and Betty.

Betty, oh poor, innocent, _good,_ Betty. What did she think, in her last moments, when her friends betrayed her? When she realised, despite her planning, her death could be for nothing? The hurt look on her face is etched on Veronica's mind like her friend is standing in front of her.

 _Don't cry,_ she tells herself, _don't cry. You don't need them knowing exactly how weak you are._

Instead, she looks down at her hands, her nails are still painted the sparkly midnight blue from the night before. They are no longer quite perfect curves and the paint on a few are chipped around the edges, but still their presence disturbs her, a relic of a time that simply couldn't have been less than a day ago. She drives them into the palm of her hand, until she sees blood.

xxx

The night is cold, so cold, and she has nothing but her thin clothes to cover her. She curls up in a little ball, buries herself in leaves, places her bag on top of her as the world's most pathetic makeshift blanket and hopes her shivers don't use up too much energy.

She can hear noises as she tries to get some (any) rest; there are animals nearby certainly, maybe even the shouts of other tributes. She doesn't sleep well. She keeps waking up every hour or so. It's hard to drift off when you keep wondering if you'll wake up to a blade against your throat.

 _I can't do this alone._ She realises with a resounding certainty that she rarely has for anything, _If I don't manage to ally with someone, I won't last the next few days._

Though, now she has left the only people who liked her to die, how she will find one is a mystery.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 1**

**District 1  
** Heather McNamara  
Ram Sweeny

 **District 2  
** Heather Chandler  
David Remington

 **District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn  
~~ Peter Dawson

 **District 4  
** Heather Duke  
Kurt Kelly

 **District 5  
** Shannon Lucas  
 ~~Rodney Bulb~~

 **District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone  
~~ Al Springer

 **District 7  
** Tracy Hophead  
 ~~Bobby Young~~

 **District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9  
** Courtney Chadwick  
Keith Harrington

 **District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little  
~~ ~~Dennis Grundy~~

 **District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy  
~~ ~~Dwight Archer~~

 **District 12**  
Martha Dunstock  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 8 **  
****Survivors:** 16


	7. Arena Day 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter yet! Time to get to know some characters we haven’t seen much of…
> 
> A very mild trigger warning for dubious consent towards the end of this chapter, it’s not graphic and nothing worse than what’s in the movie tbh though.
> 
> Nano: I hit 50,000 on Tuesday! Fic is an unfinished mess, but who knows, maybe by the time I’ve finished uploading this one it’ll be in a better state.
> 
> Song Bingo: 2 this time, both new!

A cannon startles her awake. Instantly she is alert, scrabbling so she can see out of the bush and reaching for the stones in her pocket, which are the closest thing she has to a weapon. After a few moments of silence though, she realises that the Careers must be hunting elsewhere, as there is no sign of them nearby. The sunrise in the distance confirms that they have started as early as possible, much too early for her liking.

Still, if they are up then she must be too, despite her lack of sleep last night. She has a little food left from yesterday, which she cautiously nibbles but it only seems to make her hungrier. She debates trying out her pitiful plant identifying skills by eating berries but decides she's not desperate enough to risk death just yet. She can make a satisfying net though, and there are plenty of vines. Perhaps if she could find a stream she may be able to catch some fish.

That of course, requires water, a valuable commodity and an easy place for the Careers to lie in wait for victims. She tries to put this thought to the back of her mind and spends the first part of her morning weaving a net while she properly wakes up. It's relaxing, almost like mucking around with threads back at home, although at home she doesn't tend to jump and drop everything any time the wind rustles through the trees.

When she has finished, the sun is much higher in the sky. She gets up and looks around for the stream she passed yesterday, but finding yesterday's path is difficult when every damn tree looks the same. She walks briskly but does not run. She's pretty sure the Capitol are up now and she doesn't want to waste her energy just in case the Gamemakers decide she's the ideal candidate for some mid-morning entertainment.

After several hours of wandering, in what she hopes is not just a big circle, she starts to regret her idea. Her stomach is rumbling more than ever, her mouth is starting to get dry, she feels the edge of a headache coming on and still she seems no closer to her goal. She gives in, eats the rest of her food and takes another big sip of her water, praying this isn't a mistake that will cost her her life.

She walks further and further into the endless woodland until something sloshes against her feet. Mud! And from mud, there must be water! She stops walking, stands quietly for a minute… there, that way! She can hear the rushing of a stream. She moves closer, pushing through vines and reeds, the sound getting ever louder. And there it is, visible in the distance. Water! She almost runs as she goes towards it and…

A loud rustle and a piercing scream breaks through the sound of splashing on rocks. Immediately, she takes off in the other direction, only for her heart to sink as she sees two large figures lumber towards her, one strikingly familiar.

 _Brad,_ she barely has time to think, before cursing and turning right round.

The screams only get louder as the net slips out of her fingers as she rushes away from the most immediate danger. The stream, that moments ago had been her friend, now blocks her from going in any other direction. She can hear footsteps getting ever closer behind her and hopes desperately the screams have drowned out her own clumsy stumbling.

She finally finds a bush in the undergrowth large enough to hide in, and dives in, trying to be quiet while the cries vibrate in her ears and the footsteps must be moments away. She's sure her heart is thumping loud enough for them to hear her by now.

The footsteps cease. And for one heart-stopping moment, she's sure they have found her.

But, when she dares to look out through the bushes, Brad and the other tribute, whom she now recognises as David, are not looking at her. Instead, they are looking at three struggling figures in a net, bigger but not unlike her own, which has been lifted a couple of metres in the air. Inside are the three Heathers, suddenly rendered helpless, their own weapons out of reach.

"Afternoon ladies. What a pleasure to see you hanging about here." David sniggers at his own joke.

Obviously David has decided the best way to get rid of competition is to get rid of the tribute who scored higher than him, and a couple of her allies, while they're still supposed to be working together. Brad probably just can't believe his luck that he gets to be a part of it.

God, she can only imagine just how smug Pauline will be at the moment and how many sponsors Brad is going to get from this.

Heather McNamara seems to be the source of most of the screaming, while Heather Duke just seems furious, hissing insults and elaborate curses with the odd sprinkling of, "Traitor," mixed in.

Heather Chandler though is quieter, ignoring her fellow captives, even her captors, and is instead looking around, for somewhere, anywhere, to escape.

Veronica watches carefully as Heather Chandler follows David's movements, desperately seeing if he'll make a mistake, and then, in an instant, Heather's frantic eyes lock onto hers. They are softer than she's expecting, they're frightened, pleading.

 _She's scared of dying,_ she realises, _she's happy to kill, competent and strong, excellent at fighting, but she's terrified of what will happen if she fails._ And somehow Veronica feels a pang of pity for the girl.

That's not to say that, if Heather does escape, she won't make it her first mission to track down and viciously kill a girl who ignored her when she thought she would die.

And might she survive? The weapons cannot be far out of reach, and David, chuckling softly as he takes his sweet time getting out a long knife, seems to have forgotten who he is dealing with.

The decision is made so quickly that she's not sure she has thought about it at all (because surely if she had she'd have dismissed it as idiocy.) She stands up, shouts and throws a rock at David's head.

It's not the most graceful move, and the impact would at best give David a bruise, but the distraction is enough for Heather to grab the knife straight from his hand to free herself and the other Heathers. The moment they hit the ground, they are back up again, weapons drawn. Brad is smart enough to sense the danger and flee but David waits a moment too long and they descend on him, knocking him to the ground, circling round him, hacking.

By the time the cannon fires and they retreat he's not really recognisable.

_One Career down._

It's only then she realises how stupid she's been for leaving her feet glued to the floor, simply staring at the scene of a murder. The three girls turn to her.

"I'll just be going…" Veronica says, even though she knows it's in vain.

"I wouldn't." Heather Chandler's knife is still dripping with blood.

"Fair point. Um… I don't suppose I could join you?" The words sound so stupid that she's sure half the viewers are laughing, but it's not like she has anything to lose.

Surprisingly, Heather takes her at face value, _huh, maybe she is grateful I saved her life._ She walks around her, looking her over and she is reminded of a lion circling its prey. Veronica stays silent, staring straight ahead, doing her best not to betray any sign of fear. She's at her mercy now and nothing she can do will change that.

"You were fast," she concedes, "and quiet. And not a bad shot, how good are you with weapons?"

Somehow, with her life at stake, she feels like she can't be anything but honest. "I'm not bad with knives, we use them to cut fabrics back home, so I know how to press to cause the most damage, not so good at throwing though, long-distance dressmaking isn't really a thing. And obviously, I can use them to cook, I'm pretty fast at chopping."

The cooking comment was more of a joke to babble her way through an awkward conversation, but Heather looks interested, "We need a cook. That half raw rabbit Ram hunted last night and then sort of flung in the fire was awful."

She eyes her, still suspicious, "You're from 8 too, aren't you?" Veronica nods once, "How do we know you weren't helping them?"

She snorts, _If I was, you'd all be dead now,_ "I had to grow up with Brad, he spent his life flexing his muscles and boasting about stuff he'd never done. The boy was born with a brain tumour instead of a brain. You'd do us all a favour if you cut it out."

Heather's mouth twitches as she hides a smile, "Isn't that all men? Come on then, you can tag along with us for now. You'd better not be lying about the cooking though. Oh and toss her some bread, I don't want her fainting on us."

Barely able to believe her luck, Veronica tries her best to hide her smile as she digs into the roll. The situation is still far from ideal, and she's sure she'll be the first the Careers turn on when the numbers start going down, but for the moment she is safe.

They sit for a few minutes by the stream, refilling their water bottles, unafraid. Why would they be? They are strong and powerful and have just killed their greatest threat.

There's a noise in the sky and a hovercraft comes over and lowers its claw. For a moment, the husk of meat that used to be David's body is visible to them all, still dripping with blood.

There is a retching sound nearby, Veronica turns to see Heather Duke, bent over the ground, clearly hoping she has not been noticed. Heather Chandler's immediate strides towards her prove she's been very unsuccessful.

"For God's sake Heather," she says, "A tribute afraid of blood. Are you trying to drain away all our sponsor money?"

"What do you do when you're on your period?" sniggers Heather McNamara, joining her, "do you just faint every time you go to the toilet?"

"And here is a tale of a girl who has not yet hit puberty." says Heather Chandler with a flourish, "I came here for my chance to become rich and famous, not to have to put up with a waste of space who scored an 8 in training."

For a second there's a flash of something in Heather Duke's eyes, something completely terrifying hiding just beneath her quiet exterior, and Veronica is suddenly fearful of what will come next. But nothing does. Instead, Heather Duke looks away in shame.

"Let's go," says Heather Chandler, tying her hair back with a red scrunchie that must be her token, "this whole place stinks of barf now."

Just as they're about to move on, Veronica notices something glinting on the ground. She picks it up carefully. Instantly she recognises the crest of her school back in 8, she is momentarily confused, how can something from home be here? But then she rubs some dirt off and sees the words _Football Captain,_ and she snorts, typical Brad, fighting for his life and he wants to remind himself that some sports idiots thought he was good enough to lead them. She tosses it into the stream with a gentle 'plop'.

xxx

They hunt for a bit longer as they make their way back to camp, making no effort to keep their voices down. All the Heathers have their weapons drawn, apparently reluctant to get trapped again without them to hand. She keeps her hands in her pockets and trails a little behind, hoping no one will see what she is lacking.

"Do you have a weapon?" Asks Heather Duke, slowing down to walk with her, apparently not stupid enough to fall for her (admittedly weak) ploy.

She's still debating which answer is more likely to get her killed when Heather reaches into her bag and passes her a knife, "it's a good one, very sharp."

"Thanks," she mutters, not wanting the other Heathers to know about the exchange.

Heather Duke shrugs, "you're a liability if you can't even attempt to defend yourself," but does nothing to bring it to their attention either.

She tests it by cutting a few tree branches and Heather is right, it is good and sharp. A real weapon, powerful allies and the promise of more food and water, all in all, she's doing a lot better than she was this morning.

No more tributes are found. She's glad; she might not vomit at the sight of blood, but she's had quite enough of action and questionable morals today.

xxx

Kurt and Ram are using knives to carve lewd drawings into trees when they get back to camp.

Heather Chandler rolls her eyes, and clicks her fingers, "Over here boys, would be good if you didn't spend your time blunting our weapons while we do all the work."

The boys shoot angry looks, which would have had Veronica running, but Heather just throws a knife so it lands dead centre of one of the carved penises, "Now."

They both shuffle over.

"We've lost those idiots David and Brad, but we picked up this one from 8. She's not very good at fighting but can throw rocks and, unlike you boys, can cook."

Ram looks unconvinced, "Wasn't she the hot one who said she was smarter than all of us in the interview?"

Veronica feels five sets of accusing eyes on her.

_Fuck. How was I to know one of the Careers was actually listening to me? Fuck my sexy dress. Fuck JD and the words he put into my head._

She gives Ram a smile, the same one that she's pretty sure earnt her an extra point from the Gamemakers, "I appear to have spent too much time listening to what Brad said about you all, I figured if he was boasting about being smarter than you then I must be a rocket scientist by that standard. Now I just see he spoke enough rubbish that he should have bullshit pouring out of his ears."

Ram and Kurt seemed to have gotten distracted enough by the smile to have forgotten the question (which is probably not an argument in their favour about her opinion of their intelligence being incorrect). Heather Chandler, however, just snorts and pulls out a blanket from their pile of supplies, and it seems the issue is resolved. Maybe she's just planning a worse death for her when they do decide to kill her.

"What happened with David and Brad?" asks Kurt.

"Tried to kill us so we killed David, Brad ran away like the reaped loser he is," summarises Heather Duke, missing out a few key details.

"It just sucks, you know," Heather Chandler says, as she flops down on the blanket, "I spent five years training with David. He could have given me a few more days before he tried to murder me. Ah well, guess he couldn't get over me being better than him and his small penis."

The boys snigger appreciatively, apparently too dim to realise she'd have said the exact thing about them had the situations been reversed.

xxx

The Hunger Games seem misnamed at the Career camp, here there is enough food to feed all 24 tributes for the next month. _If that's not a metaphor for the way the Capitol treats the districts I don't know what is._

She puts together a proper fire (apparently Kurt and Ram were too distracted by drawing genitals on trees to properly tend to the one they had) and then wraps potatoes in tin foil (because what don't they have at this camp?) and chucks them on the embers until they are soft.

Stacked with cheese, butter and some vegetables she roasted on a stick, they are divine.

"Not bad," says Heather Chandler and then, seeing Veronica's shock that she actually received a compliment, immediately seeks to rectify it, "like it's no Capitol meal, but it's ok for peasant food."

But Veronica just smirks as Heather grabs another potato, "I'm here all evening."

Once they are stuffed, Veronica brings out a pack of marshmallows she found while searching through the food stores. She's never had them herself, but she's heard enough old stories about times before to know what to do with them, "I have dessert."

And before long they're all sitting round the fire, roasting marshmallows (which are even softer and sweeter than she imagined) while they talk. It's almost fun, it's like what she imagines a camping trip might have been like if she'd ever had a chance to go on one.

Off murder duty, the Careers seem to have forgotten that she is the weakest of their number, as they laugh and tell stories about their lives in their districts. Some of the stories are completely unrecognisable to her, they involve a lot more sanctioned fighting than she's used to and a world where they are not expected to take a shift in a factory after school. But other stories, of near escapes from Peacekeepers, of sneaking out to parties and drinking alcohol, smuggled from their parents', out behind the school shed are very familiar, not so different from what she did in 8 (or, in some cases, what more popular kids did in 8).

Soon she starts adding her own stories to the mix: her friends and her daring each other to steal sweets they couldn't afford from the candy store, the minor explosion some of her classmates made trying to make homemade alcohol, and the time she snuck into a designer's workroom and copied a Capitol dress pattern that all the girls at school particularly admired, only to realise that none of them had the fabrics to make it look anything like the design.

"If it was anything like the dress they designed for your interview I imagine it looked nice anyway," says Heather Duke.

Veronica chuckles, "You assume very wrong."

 _They're human,_ she thinks, wondering how it took actually meeting them to get to this revelation, _not nice ones, not good ones, but humans – children, just like me, who should all have a life ahead of them to look forward to._

The Panem Anthem cuts through their contented chatter and they all immediately turn to the sky.

David is the first face in the sky, seeing him up there is different from seeing the others yesterday. There's no sadness, not for that jerk, instead she sees the image of a guy showing off exactly how strong he was, and now he is dead. He is dead and wouldn't be if it wasn't for her. She feels a rush of power at the thought.

The only other image is Rodney's district partner, Kurt and Ram cheer at her picture, confirming her suspicions that she was killed by the Career pack.

"Who's left?" Demands Heather Chandler.

"All of us except David, that wimpy kid from District 3, boy District 6, girl District 7, that idiot Brad, both of 9 and the boy and the fat girl from 12," says Heather Duke, who apparently has been actually paying attention to the Games.

"That pig's still alive?" Heather McNamara shrieks, amused, "can't wait to see her waddle away when we hunt her!"

The rest of the Careers snigger. Veronica does not, but makes sure no distaste for the comment shows on her features, it wouldn't do well for her perception either at camp or in the Capitol.

Kurt puts his arms around Heather McNamara, "Yo girl, another successful day, want to join me in the tent for a celebration..."

Heather scowls, pushing him away, "I can't, you know about Chris." She looks pleadingly at Heather Chandler to back her up.

Heather Chandler's nose wrinkles in disgust and Veronica is certain she'll tell them off. But she just rolls her eyes, "oh just suck him off, I'll do Ram, I don't want to hear them whine all night."

Veronica decides this is a great time to start clearing up the rubbish from dinner to distract herself from this disturbing scene, as the boys and both Heathers wander out of sight.

 _They're entitled, these boys_ , she reasons, _taught from a young age that they were the best of the best in the only sport that their world cares about. They must have always had things given to them, girls throwing themselves at them. Why, they must think, should their time in the arena be any different?_

It occurs to her she's never seen any of this when she's watched the Games before, though she can't see why it would be different any other years. Maybe JD is right that they cut this stuff out. Can't go scarring those Capitol kids.

Hopefully the Heathers are all sexy enough that Kurt and Ram's eyes don't wander any further.

xxx

After an amusingly short time, they return and the talk turns to sleep and plans for tomorrow. It's been a long day and, even with the stamina that has been apparently trained into them for years, the whole group is exhausted.

"I think we can afford a sleep in tomorrow." Declares Heather Chandler, as they all scramble to get the best sleeping bags, "These Games are the easiest I've ever seen. We just need to deal with that idiot boy from 8 and we've basically got no competition."

 _Oh yeah, that's definitely how you were feeling this morning,_ thinks Veronica, but keeps her thoughts to herself.

"What about District 12?" She asks, "The male, obviously?"

Heather Chandler waves her hand dismissively, "The weedy one from the poor district? Don't be ridiculous, 8. Maybe he's a threat to weaklings like you and maybe Heather Duke here, but we could snap his neck right now – at the rate we're going he'll probably be in the sky tomorrow."

 _And this is why I am allied with you,_ thinks Veronica. But JD's unsettling eyes still haunt her slightly less interrupted sleep that night.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 2**

**District 1  
** Heather McNamara  
Ram Sweeny

 **District 2  
** Heather Chandler  
 ~~David Remington~~

 **District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn  
~~ Peter Dawson

 **District 4  
** Heather Duke  
Kurt Kelly

 **District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas  
~~ ~~Rodney Bulb~~

 **District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone  
~~ Al Springer

 **District 7  
** Tracy Hophead  
 ~~Bobby Young~~

 **District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9  
** Courtney Chadwick  
Keith Harrington

 **District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little  
~~ ~~Dennis Grundy~~

 **District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy  
~~ ~~Dwight Archer~~

 **District 12**  
Martha Dunstock  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 2 **  
****Survivors:** 14


	8. Arena Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similar mild trigger warnings for non-graphic dubious consent as last chapter. Also, one use of the word "gay" in a derogative sense, because Kurt is a dick.
> 
> Song bingo: one new, one repeat
> 
> Thanks as always for reading and the lovely reviews :)

She awakens considerably more rested than she was the night before. The few times she did wake up felt better than last night too. The constant feeling of dread at the bottom of her stomach is somewhat lessened and, though Heather Chandler took the tent, she has a sleeping bag and several blankets to protect her from the cold.

The Careers have taken a break from the last two days' early rises, so she gets up herself, enjoying the peace of being almost alone, along with the security of being surrounded by people. She tends to the embers of last night's fire until there are flames again. She then goes over to the food stocks and helps herself to the eggs, bacon and sausages. She debates whether she should ask if she can use this much up, she's taken enough food to last her family a week, but with the way they were eagerly guzzling it up last night, she doubts they care much.

Anyway, with the amount they have, they'll probably have killed her before they run out.

There's no frying pan, so she takes the flattest shield she can find, props it up with rocks on all four sides and soon the smell of sizzling bacon and sausages fills the air.

"That smells amazing," says a voice behind her.

"Thanks," says Veronica, shuffling over to let Heather McNamara sit beside her. They spend some time together, using twigs and pieces of bark to flip the bacon and scramble the eggs.

As the sun breaks over the trees, Veronica notices a glint on Heather's left hand. On one of her fingers is a white gold ring, set with a teardrop shaped yellow stone, surrounded by diamonds.

Heather catches her staring, and holds out her hand to let her have a better look. It's a lot shinier than anything anyone wears in 8, but a lot less garish than some of the jewellery Pauline and her prep team wore. Generations of District 1 craftsmanship, she supposes.

"Beautiful isn't it?" she says, a surprisingly shy grin gracing her delicate features, "It's my token, my boyfriend…my fiancé, Chris, gave it to me, he told me I'd have to win and come home now, so we could get married."

It would be more romantic if Heather succeeding in this didn't mean Veronica would die. As it is, it's still quite sweet.

Veronica thinks back to Heather's interview, trying to remember if this was ever mentioned, but no, she's sure it was not. In the part of Heather's interview that wasn't about her power to crush people, they were playing her vapid sexiness up to the nines. But being sexy is pretty much a requirement for a female Career, sexy female Careers with a tragic romantic backstory are less common.

"You didn't tell Caesar? You know the Capitol, they'd have lapped it up."

Heather shakes her head, "My mentor suggested it but I didn't want to. It's not about them. It's about Chris and me."

The smile Heather gives her is the most genuine she's seen since Betty's.

xxx

By the time they've finished cooking, the rest of the Careers have gathered around them. There's not much in the way of plates, so they hold out a jumble of bread, shields and flat surfaces to eat off. _It's almost nice,_ she thinks, sandwiching her own breakfast between two hunks of bread, hearing their appreciative moans and seeing Heather McNamara's pride in having helped cook something, _it feels like I am really part of this team._

If only the team's mission wasn't child murder.

Heather Chandler announces their tasks for the day; boys are on guard duty again, girls are out hunting – and to her shock that includes her – although she does seem to be passed the heaviest backpack, so it's possibly just as a pack mule. She makes sure no one (including the cameras) sees her grimace as she puts it on.

They scramble through the piles of supplies to find the best tools to kill. Heather Chandler picks up the biggest weapon, a sword with zigzagged edges, giving it the appearance of a saw, but Heather Duke's pointed knife and Heather McNamara's giant meat cleaver look no less terrifying. Veronica keeps the knife Heather Duke gave her yesterday, anything bigger and she fears she's going to end up dropping it and chopping her foot off.

"What's this?" says Heather McNamara, holding up something pink she's found, half trampled, in the ground nearby.

"Give it here, it's mine," says Kurt quickly, but not quickly enough to stop Heather Chandler grabbing it.

Heather Chandler snorts, dangling the keychain in front of him, "Is that a _pink_ _unicorn,_ you have as your token Kurt?"

It seems so out of character that Veronica is sure she must be mistaken, but there it is, a rose gold unicorn decorated with fake gems.

Kurt snatches it back, "My sister Ashley gave it to me, she's seven, it's so gay." But she notices he puts it securely back in his pocket even so.

xxx

They stop off to fill up their water bottles at the lake five minutes from camp, before heading off still north but more westwards than where they were searching the day before.

It does not take long for them to find their first victim. About half an hour after they set off they spot a glint of vibrant pink between the tree branches and they turn that way immediately.

The girl, one of the stoners who'd mooched around the Training Centre looking upset, is huddled against a tree with a pink blanket wrapped around her to keep off the remains of the cold night. When the girl sees them she looks more angry than scared. She glances back, contemplating running, but instead gets out a knife and stands ready to attack. She is very unsuccessful; doing little more than giving Heather McNamara a couple of scratches before she is on the ground.

Veronica stands, watching from the sidelines as the three Careers surround the poor girl, her cannon booming after less than a minute. She wonders if she should have joined in, not that she was needed at all, nor did she have much taste for the deed, but she doesn't want people – the Careers, the Capitol, to think this. It's obvious, of course, but something like this will remind them of this fact. If she's seen just as a burden no one's going to bother letting her live for very long.

Next time, she resolves, she's going to have to prove that she's worth keeping around.

xxx

Her chances to do so throughout the day are limited though. Despite their early success, by late afternoon nothing more has happened and they're all getting crabby, her legs are aching and the sun is beating down, burning the back of their necks and forcing them to drink more water than they'd like. Heather McNamara is shuffling behind, hitting branches with her cleaver, and Heather Chandler is telling Heather Duke to shut up whenever she attempts to make conversation.

If anything, it's simply boring. And if it's boring for them, it must be boring for the Capitol too, she idly wonders if something is happening with the other tributes so they're showing them on the screen instead, but they've heard no cannons so it's probably not that dramatic.

It's odd, now she thinks about it, that they've faced no attacks from the Gamemakers since they started, what was it? Three? Four? Days ago. Not that she's complaining, but in most years they'd have experienced something by now; a fire perhaps, a muttation or an earthquake – something to shift the odds a little and make the Games more interesting.

Perhaps, with the stoner this morning, the Capitol are satisfied with their pound of flesh, just like how yesterday the Careers killed Rodney's partner and were sent no obstacles. Then again, maybe the Gamemakers had been holding back that day because they already knew the Heathers were heading into Brad and David's trap…

"Can we have a break?" Says Heather Duke, "I need some water, all this sun is giving me a headache."

"No," says Heather Chandler sharply, as expected, but then she hesitates and when she speaks again her voice is no longer angry, "No… I don't think we should…" she has a wicked glint in her eye, as she points to something in the sky, "Looks like our luck is about to change, ladies."

Veronica looks at where Heather's pointing and sees it, it's faint sure, but above the treetops is a wisp of smoke.

A campfire.

In an instant, Heather Duke stops complaining and Heather McNamara is at the front of the group alert. Like hounds on the trail of a fox, they set off immediately in the direction of their prey.

It takes a good half hour to get to the source of the flames. They were right. In a small clearing in the woods is what is unmistakably a campsite with a fire, still smouldering. Next to it, there is a small blanket and remnants of food; nutshells and a few bags of chips, nearby. The campers themselves are not there, but the footprints in the dirt and the way the branches ahead have been cleared leave little doubt of where they are.

The Heathers wander over in glee, but she hesitates, considering the situation.

 _It's too obvious_ , she thinks, _all the signs of habitation are far too deliberate, it's a trap. Somehow this is a trap._

She opens her mouth to voice her thoughts, but stops. She doesn't want to be ridiculed for cowardice any more than she has been already. Instead, she pushes on as if she wants to be in the centre of the action, but makes sure she notes her escape routes. After all, any tribute is going to be much more concerned with killing the Careers than making sure she doesn't get away.

And sure enough, not five minutes later they come across two figures. The first, a big girl, is unmistakably Martha, but her heart lurches as she sees the second.

It is JD.

_Fuck._

They approach with all the subtlety of a hoard of elephants who have just learnt how to emit a battle cry. Martha's face turns sheet white, she scrambles to her feet before slipping in the dirt and nearly falling over again. Meanwhile, JD is instantly alert, crouched catlike. He takes the situation in - his eyes sliding right past the Careers and making contact with hers. He raises his eyebrows, the edge of a smirk on his features. Then he has grabbed the nearest bag and is off into the undergrowth leaving his teammate no distraction from her advancing murderers.

"JD!" she screams, "Wait, please!" But he has long gone.

It all feels very deliberate.

To Martha's credit, she tries to run, first into the thick woodland like her teammate, but when it's clear that she won't be able to get through it with the speed of her partner she turns and runs in the opposite direction, towards her attackers, the shock element allowing her to push past the Careers, her bag swinging awkwardly over her shoulder, until she reaches Veronica.

Veronica sticks her foot out and Martha trips over, destined never to get up again.

Well, it wasn't like she was going to get very far anyway.

"Nice one!" says Heather McNamara.

Veronica smiles as if the compliment was worth it. It probably was. It's not like she has anything for Martha Dunstock (she had nothing against her either, but one fewer tribute is one fewer tribute and it was an easy way to look good in the eyes of the Heathers).

"JD!" Martha screams again, as if she really believes the pleas are going to make any difference to her fate.

The Heathers descend, blades at the ready. One could have really done the job but they all go forward, bustling each other to cause the most damage to the most pathetic tribute in the Games, laughing all the while.

As subtly as possible, Veronica looks away, so she doesn't have to see all the blood running right by her feet.

But this does nothing to hide Martha's screams as she calls for an ally who isn't coming.

 _You bastard,_ she thinks, _she trusted you. Do you have no honour?_

There's a special place in hell for the tributes who murder their district partner. At least that's what Panem thinks. If a victor who has killed their own is discussed, it never gets failed to be brought into the conversation, especially if they're from a non-Career district.

And this, this is different, this is plain and simple abuse of district trust. He could beat everyone remaining without a weapon and this will still be what he was known for. If he's the victor he'll be hated, booed when presented – there will be no real life for him if he wins.

_It's almost like he's not planning to get out of here alive._

The screams turn to howls of pain and then stop altogether. She hears a cannon boom.

Heather Chandler and Heather McNamara retreat slightly to look at their handiwork. Heather Duke gets up, takes a few heaving breaths and pointedly looks away from the body, face very pale. A faint whirring sound can be heard in the distance as the hovercraft approaches.

"Heather, take her bag," Heather Chandler commands at Heather Duke – a trace of a smirk appearing on her face at the girl's evident disgust at the blood soaked rucksack.

"You take it," Heather Duke spits at Veronica before she has any chance to feel sorry for her.

Veronica grits her teeth, untangles the bag from Martha's corpse and slings it over her shoulders next to her other backpack. It is surprisingly heavy. She tries to ignore the fact the red, damp patches are still warm.

"We should look for her partner." Suggests Heather McNamara.

Heather Chandler rushes over in the direction where he ran away, "There's so much undergrowth, I can't see where he went. He'll be long gone. It's nightfall soon anyway, I don't fancy sleeping in the cold for some feeble looking boy who will probably not survive the night. He can't be very savvy if he thinks having her for a partner was a good idea."

Veronica is unconvinced by her reasoning but pleased by the decision, she does not think looking for JD will keep the odds in their favour.

The mood on the way back to camp is considerably more jovial than it has been all afternoon. Apparently killing someone so obviously weaker than them gives the Heathers no end of joy.

"Two kills!" Heather Chandler announces, as they join Kurt and Ram back at camp, "And a bag of booty. What have you two lameasses done?"

"Uh, only protected the rest of it," says Kurt, flexing his muscles, but his eyes follow the bag that Heather has ripped off Veronica's back, now it's useful again.

They scan it apathetically, "Compass, lame. Damp matches – useless. Pork scratchings – clearly she was into cannibalism, oooh what have we here?" Heather draws out a water bottle from the bottom of the bag, still filled to the brim, "three litres – that's the biggest we've got yet." She immediately puts it in her bag for tomorrow before continuing her search, "dried fruit – could be useful for a snack," she throws it into the bag too, "oh, and a butter knife – well maybe if she'd had that on her and pushed really hard she'd have given us a bruise," she cackles.

As they continue sorting through the last few items, Veronica notices a shadow fall over the Heathers' faces, she looks up in the sky and sees a cloud is covering the sun. No, not a cloud, clouds don't move that fast, nor are they bird shaped and heading towards them…

"Get your weapons!" she shrieks, pointing to the sky.

The camp is instantly on their feet, grabbing their swords and knives, and rushing over to the weapons pile for more.

There are five in total, coming towards them. These are not normal birds but Capitol bread muttations, specifically designed to hurt and programmed to kill. The size of a large child, these are ugly muttations of eagles, with foot-long beaks and talons that look sharp as knives.

They circle the area once or twice and then dive. For a moment it looks like they're aiming for something else they've seen in the trees, a deer perhaps? But then one of them gives a caw, and the others turn towards a far better source of meat.

Kurt and Ram are quick with spears, they take down an eagle each with one shot, and a further one falls to a quick succession of Heather Chandler's throwing knives. They are not so lucky with the last two. The first goes straight for Heather Duke, she and Heather McNamara, who rushes over to help, stab it several times with a sword until it falls to the ground but not before it has left a nasty gash in Heather Duke's left leg.

The final one pushes Ram over, steps firmly on both shoulders and pulls back its head so it can thrust its beak into his neck. Or it would have if he hadn't, with a swing of a sword, stabbed the beast in its underbelly.

"So," says Veronica, "Who fancies roasted bird tonight?"

They all laugh with her, if a little hysterically.

xxx

It turns out there's not much meat once she's plucked the muttations, they're designed to kill not to sustain, but between all five, there's enough for one meal for all of them. She cuts the meat into chunks, puts them on skewers and they roast them on the fire. The meat is lean but not unpleasant and exactly what they need after a day like the one they've had.

Now they're all safe again, the Careers seem to consider the attack one big adventure, Kurt and Ram are boasting about their winning shots, Heather Chandler is pretty pleased with her throwing knives and even Heather McNamara is going on about how she stabbed the bird.

Only Heather Duke is not participating, the wound the eagle left on the outside of her right thigh has only just stopped bleeding, she is holding a cloth over it, very determinedly not looking at the blood.

 _Maybe this was the attack the Capitol was planning to make things more interesting_ , thinks Veronica, _something to make sure the viewers have an exciting night_ , but she can't help feeling like there's something more, something all of them have missed…

The Panem Anthem cuts through her thoughts, but there are no surprises in the sky, first the girl from 7 is shown and then Martha. Again, the Careers cheer unpleasantly at their kills.

"So," says Kurt, seconds after it has ended, with no reflection whatsoever on the children they murdered today, "tonight I want the new girl."

"Aw man!" says Ram, "I wanted her too."

Veronica freezes, heart sinking well beneath her feet.

The campsite is quiet for a few moments, all attention is on her.

"What's your damage, Veronica?" says Heather Chandler, "pick one of them."

The only blessing is that she knows such humiliation is going to be cut from being aired to the rest of Panem.

Ram shuffles over to her, sweaty arm placed around her shoulders, "Come on baby, you and I, it'll be big fun."

"No." says Veronica, pushing him away, "I don't want to."

"Well," says Heather Chandler, danger dripping from every word, "I want you to not be a kuse who is unable to swing a sword, but we can't all get what we want, can we? Do it now or you'll be history. It's a compliment anyway, they think you're hot."

Kurt sniggers.

Veronica takes in the threat, and the look of victory on Kurt and Ram's faces, as she calculates her next move.

"Oh give it a rest Heather," says Heather Duke, "she's probably a virgin."

Veronica does not reply, not sure whether to confirm or deny this statement.

Heather Chandler glares daggers at Heather Duke, "Fine, you do it then."

Heather Duke rolls her eyes but tosses her fiery hair and concedes.

Before she can get away, Heather Chandler turns back to Veronica, "Tomorrow," she hisses at her, deliberately loud enough for the whole campsite to hear, "to make up for it you are going to have a threesome with both of them, and if you don't, you're history. If I were you, I'd have a good long think about how you were a nothing before you met me. I hope you enjoyed eating dinner with us tonight, if you're not careful, you might not be so lucky tomorrow."

Kurt and Ram look like children who have been told they are getting ice cream for dinner. She feels faintly sick.

_But on the bright side, by tomorrow one of us might be too dead to participate!_

xxx

Afterwards, Heather Duke is sitting on her own by a tree, while the others prepare for sleep. Her face is a little green as she rubs some sort of lotion into the wound on her thigh from the eagle. She is doing her best to not look at it, but it is deep and has started bleeding again now she has been moving.

Veronica goes over, she doesn't mention Kurt and Ram, she doesn't know how to, "That cut looks nasty," she says, "are you ok?"

Heather tries to scowl but is wincing too much from the pain, "Of course I am. It was only a dumb animal." But the blood is still flowing and even she sounds doubtful.

Veronica looks in the first aid kit beside Heather, inside is a needle and thread, "I could stitch the wound for you? I heard it helps it heal."

Heather looks at her dubiously, "Have you ever stitched a wound before?"

"Not once," she says, "but I've hemmed a bazillion dresses, how much harder can it be?"

Heather groans, but doesn't resist when Veronica goes over to her and barely fidgets when Veronica pierces her skin.

"Nice accuracy," says Heather quietly, she's a lot softer when she's not around Heather Chandler, "you could do some good knife work with skills like that, if you know which veins to aim for."

"It's a little easier when your target isn't struggling and trying to kill you too," Veronica confesses, but smiles at the compliment anyway, "you can look away. I won't tell Heather."

"Thanks Veronica," she mutters, then, after a pause, "it's not that bad, being with the guys, like they're annoying, but Kurt's actually reasonably ok at it and Ram's not demanding the way David was. Are you a virgin?"

"No," she says, because once in a closet totally counts.

Heather shrugs, "You'll be ok then. You just bear it because you know otherwise they'll get all moody and anyway, it might give us an advantage when we have to kill them later."

Veronica seriously doubts she'll be alive by the time the Heathers turn on Kurt and Ram, but she feels this might not be something to bring up to her potential murderer. Anyway, she has a much more pressing question.

"How was Brad?"

"Incredibly mediocre." Heather says, clearly pleased she has the gossip, "took ages to get it up and then he couldn't last at all."

Veronica smirks, "Figures, I always knew he wasn't God's gift to women like he always claimed." She pauses, "Thanks, thanks for all that, by the way."

Heather is silent for a moment or two then says quietly, "She didn't need to do that to you, you know, people from District 2 are so vulgar."

"It's ok, I get she needs to swing her dick around."

Heather smiles bitterly and Veronica suddenly remembers how, in many of the Games she's watched, it is someone from District 4 who becomes the leader of the Careers, "Little-Miss-Eleven keeps us alive, that's enough for now."

xxx

She spends a long time awake that night. Now there are no other distractions, she has to think back on what she's done today and Martha's screams are playing round her head again and again. There was no excuse for it, not this time. She'd let Betty down, she destroyed Betty in her last moments, but she didn't kill the girl, Betty had decided to end her own life long before that. David had died because of her, but he'd died guilty and his death had saved three more lives. The stoner girl, she didn't kill her, only failed to stop her murder.

But Martha, Martha was not guilty of anything except incompetence. S _he wasn't going to live anyway, you shortened her life by about 30 seconds,_ her brain reminds her, but her heart thinks differently. She remembers all those years watching the Games, wondering how the tributes, so polite, so nervous, so human, in the interviews don't hesitate to kill a day later. Now she is one of them and she's still not sure if she knows the answer.

She tries to push the thoughts to the back of her mind, but the only thing she can replace it with is the stuff about Kurt and Ram. It seems silly really, worrying about this at all. After all she's done in the last few days, what's one more indignity, especially one that will only cause her to suffer, to add to the list? It's not like refusing will do anything to restore the ravaged husk of her soul that remains. She's going to have nightmares for the rest of her life in any case.

It was a mistake, she thinks, to have slipped and begun to view the Careers as allies. They are nothing like Betty or Dennis or Rodney or even Peter. While Betty dreamed of a world where everyone could live happily together, they kill screaming girls, steal what they've left behind and laugh about it once they're done. They want her here because it makes their lives easier and they will oblige her until they no longer need her. She needs them for the protection they offer her, so for now she will do what she needs to, to keep it that way. Whether that be murdering the innocent or giving up her body.

She's a survivor she thinks, or maybe realises, for the first time. Veronica Sawyer is a survivor and she will do whatever it takes to stay alive.

And if she makes it home… well she'll just have to survive facing what she did in the arena too.

The Careers twitch and occasionally shout in their sleep, and at one point during the night she's convinced she hears quiet female sobbing. For a wild moment, she wonders if maybe they share her haunting thoughts and nightmares, but there's no sign of it on any of their faces in the morning.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 3**

**District 1  
** Heather McNamara  
Ram Sweeny

 **District 2  
** Heather Chandler **  
** ~~David Remington~~

 **District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~  
Peter Dawson

 **District 4  
** Heather Duke  
Kurt Kelly

 **District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~  
 ~~Rodney Bulb~~

 **District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~  
Al Springer

 **District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~  
 ~~Bobby Young~~

 **District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9  
** Courtney Chadwick  
Keith Harrington

 **District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~  
 ~~Dennis Grundy~~

 **District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~  
 ~~Dwight Archer~~

 **District 12**  
 ~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 2 **  
****Survivors:** 12


	9. Arena Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I told some of you in last week’s comments, shit goes down in this chapter…
> 
> Bingo: one new, one repeat

Breakfast is a more solemn affair for her this morning. Her troubled sleep has made her tired, and she doesn't really feel like engaging with the Careers as they talk excitedly about their plans for the day.

_What voodoo magic has been used on these teenagers to make them morning people?_

She finds some instant coffee at the bottom of the food pile, boils a batch up for everyone and starts to feel a little more human after she takes a few gulps. Unfortunately, it also makes the Careers even keener to get to work.

Heather Chandler prowls around the rest of them, deciding who she wants to send out today.

"Boys on guard and…"

_Please don't leave me alone with Kurt or Ram, they are way too creepy to deal with this early in the day._

"No," says Ram, petulantly, "Not again! Guard duty is so booooring, we have had no action for the last two days."

"Yeah," says Kurt, flexing his muscles, "I want to spill some blood."

Heather rolls her eyes, "Fine, you guys can go, head northwards," she points towards the area they've been searching for the last few days, "but I'm not staying at camp, leaving an 11 behind would be an insult to our sponsors." She pauses, looking at Veronica, Heather and Heather, brow slightly furrowed, "Heather and Heather, you stay. Veronica, come with me, we're going south." She says, gesturing towards the woodlands with the mountains in the distance.

"Wait? What? Me? Really?" Veronica splutters, "Why?"

She shrugs, "You're not as stupid as Heather McNamara or the guys, and I won't get puke on me when I get anything done," she barely has time to witness the resigned annoyance on the other Careers' faces, when Heather's large bag is shoved in front of her own, "carry."

She puts it on her back without complaint, hoping the weight won't slow her down enough for it to be fatal. _Oh the things I do to be with you, Heather._

Heather's reasoning is a lie of course, Veronica thinks, now the surprise has worn off, Heather Chandler wants her for the same reason she's been trying to keep Kurt and Ram out of action. Heather might be an 11, she might have a fantastic aim with a throwing knife and be great in any sword fight, but Kurt and Ram have brute strength and the speed of an adult male and that's something her sponsors (the ones she claims she's so desperate to please) will love. What happens if she comes across a tribute and Kurt and Ram beat her to the punch? She's already been caught once by Brad and David, she can't afford to look weak. By choosing Veronica as a partner - well Veronica's not going to be killing any tributes before Heather gets her hands on them. There's no way having Veronica at her side won't make Heather look like even more of a powerful killer. Not to mention, of course, if they come across another one of those terrifying beasts, well Heather will have a handy distraction to help her escape alive.

_God, I hope we don't run into any terrifying beasts._

xxx

They head further south than they have before, she supposes Heather figures the rest of the tributes know where the Careers are camped and are doing their best to keep as far away as possible from them. They don't converse much, instead they look around for any signs of other humans, a footprint, a flash of colour unnatural to the forest (perhaps from a bag or a food wrapper), or branches that have been used for a shelter or campfire…

Heather's pace is unrelenting, and they cover a surprising amount of ground in a few hours, Veronica's legs are aching and her throat is dry, but she dares not ask for a break or even a gulp of the water she is carrying.

She hears a twig snap and turns sharply, "Did you hear that?"

Heather obliges by looking around the nearby bushes, sword raised, but sees nothing, "probably a rabbit, no tribute would be stupid enough to get this close."

Veronica, unsatisfied, continues to cast her eyes over the undergrowth, but whatever or whomever made the noise seems to be gone.

Sometime around mid-morning, they come across a hill, a big one. It towers above them, the woodland becoming more and more sparse as it reaches the top. Climbing to the top would make them very exposed to other people seeing them, but she supposes if you've got an 11 in training that doesn't matter very much.

"Thank God," says Heather, "we can finally get a better view of the arena." And immediately starts an ascent.

She has to give it to her, for a girl who looks almost delicate in stature, Heather Chandler is clearly all muscle. Veronica finds herself panting to keep up with her (and not just because she's been forced to carry all the heavy stuff), but she knows she can't stop for a moment or she'd risk seeming even more weak than usual.

Once they get about halfway up Heather comes to a halt for the first time all morning, "I'm parched, give me some water." Veronica opens the bag and chucks Heather the large bottle. She takes advantage of the wait to have a look around. Heather was not wrong about getting a better view of the arena, from this angle she can see much further than she has all Games. Southwards there are the craggy mountains she could see from camp, that they will eventually get to if they continue this way. At the other end of the arena, beyond the woodland that Kurt and Ram must be now searching, is what looks like a desert, not good for water, but there are a series of large rocks which would provide decent protection from the elements and searching tributes. West of them are several rivers leading to a big pool of…

A piercing scream fills her ears. She turns round to see Heather choking, clutching her throat and scratching her neck as if this will somehow halt the pain. One look at her face, swelling and turning interesting shades of red and purple, and Veronica knows that Heather is not going to live to tell the tale. The sounds of the fearsome tribute's anguish echo shrilly through the trees.

Veronica drops everything she is holding and throws herself towards Heather, forcefully placing both of her hands over her mouth so the scream is muffled. Heather struggles under her grasp, first viciously but quickly her attempts become feeble, her eyes meet Veronica's, clearly trying to glare – but all Veronica can see in them is fear. Heather doesn't want to die – she never expected the Games to be this hard – she never thought she would lose. Here, far too weak to put up any kind of fight, she simply looks like the girl, too young to be called a woman, that she is. Veronica feels an odd wave of compassion towards this child, before she pushes it to the back of her mind and covers her mouth even more firmly – there's nothing she can do for Heather – and she'll be damned if she's killed because a Career gave away her location.

With one final spasm the girl, whose life she saved not three days prior, stops moving. A cannon booms in the distance.

For a second or two Veronica just blinks at the body in front of her, but then her mind springs back into action. The water! It must have been the water that was poisoned. Still on the ground, she crawls towards the bottle and pours the rest of the contents out onto the grass, before thinking better of it and simply chucking the bottle itself into the bush – she doesn't want to reuse it and risk drinking even a drop of something that deadly.

How had the poison gotten in the water? Was it in the stream? No, it can't have been – they all drank from it last night. Had someone at camp poisoned Heather's bottle then?

Her question is answered by a rustling behind her, too substantial and deliberate to be an animal. She reaches for her knife, but it is kicked away. She jumps at how close he is to her and scrambles to her feet. But, before she can move any further, he grabs her upper arm so tightly that (on the off-chance she lives that long) it will leave bruises tomorrow.

JD grins wolfishly down at her and it all clicks into place – it wasn't Heather's bottle.

It was Martha's.

"You!" she splutters, "you poisoned your own teammate's water and left her to be captured and killed."

He doesn't try to deny it, nor does he look remotely remorseful, "Martha was never going to live. Now there is one fewer real competitor. She no longer died in vain."

"You bastard, she thought you were protecting her," she tries to struggle out of his grip, but he wordlessly glances at the knife in his other hand and she quickly stops. She wishes he'd just finish her off quickly. What an idiot she was to not just run as soon as Heather started screaming. Then again, she has a funny feeling he's been watching them ever since they killed Martha and, by the way he's looking at her, killing Heather was just a bonus to getting what he really wanted.

He takes a step towards her, so she is close enough to feel his breath on her face and the hand holding the knife is lightly brushing her hip.

"I have a proposition for you."

"Spit it out then." She's not up to dealing with his bullshit in the last few moments of her life.

He raises his eyebrows but otherwise doesn't comment on her outburst, "An alliance. We work together to outwit them."

It's not even a choice, "No! Not after I've just seen what you did to your last ally!"

"Martha was cannon fodder, she was useless. You're different, you have enough power to fight beside me."

"Never."

He moves the knife towards her, using the blade to push up her shirt until she can feel the coolness of sharp metal rest against her stomach – a fraction too softly to break the skin.

"You know," he says conversationally, "they say a knife wound in the stomach is one of the most painful ways to die. It doesn't kill you instantly, you see, if the knife pierces your internal organs what's inside starts falling out, getting into your bloodstream, poisoning you from the inside. I hear it can last hours, if not days, and is agonising."

The world is silent as she dares not move, all she can hear is the sound of her own breathing. She can feel her heart racing, as if it's trying to get in as many beats as possible before it is ruthlessly stopped.

Somewhere around them will be a camera fully zoomed in on the scene – the whole of Panem will be watching on tenterhooks as they see his knife lightly pierce her flesh, a couple of red droplets running down the blade and onto the grass. Somewhere, in a world that seems so distant that she's a little stunned that it still exists, her mother is crying and her father is covering his eyes dreading the sound of his daughter's last moments. The people in the Capitol are probably taking bets while others are shouting at their screens, wondering why this is such a hard decision. But they are not here, they don't understand – it's all about pride, she could die here, humanity still mostly intact or she could follow this dangerous boy who is watching her decide her fate. His face is a mix of excitement and curiosity, there is not an ounce of shame or pity in his eyes. If she accepts his offer who knows what she'll have become by the time he kills her.

The knife has barely scratched her flesh but it already stings. She thinks of Martha's cries as she was hacked to death, thinks of Heather's muffled screams as she struggled and then surrendered. She imagines lying here weak, alone, in pain, waiting for it to all stop.

She's not ready to die yet.

"Fine," she says, "allies."

He drops the hand with the knife to his side and immediately releases his grip on her arm, "Perfecto, now let's get to somewhere more secluded."

She doesn't move at first, just watches him, he's looking at Heather's body with an odd sort of detached curiosity. He takes her saw-like sword from her hands, guffaws at its ridiculousness and puts it in his bag, before setting off down the hill. She considers running. But she doesn't know where she would go, and she's loath to be without allies again. So, feeling a little like a petulant child, she follows.

As they are nearing the bottom of the hill, the birds go silent and she hears the hovercraft overhead. She watches Heather's body as it is picked up. Too far away to see the swelling and discolouration she looks bedraggled but surprisingly beautiful. Her back is gracefully arched against the claw and, as her scrunchie falls out of her hair and drifts to the ground, her blonde curls splay out behind her. She wonders how many people in the Capitol are screaming with disappointment right now, tearing up their betting slips, maybe even the Gamemakers are. Here was a girl, a strong girl, a strong leader, a Career who scored 11 in training, who spent her whole life preparing for these Games, who didn't even survive the week thanks to JD and his antics. So much potential wasted in one gulp of poisoned water.

They walk a while like that, him taking the lead down the hill and westward, her following despondently behind. He stops occasionally to pick the odd mushroom or berry to put in his bag, apparently confident he knows whether it will kill him and, considering what he's just done to Heather, he's probably right.

"Smart plan teaming up with the Heathers." He says at one point.

"It wasn't planned." It was. It wasn't. She's not sure what it was really. Realising she'd die if she didn't have allies, saving girls who were scared, saving girls who could hunt her, saving girls who could protect her, not realising she could run while they were distracted killing David. She's not sure which bits were choices. And if they were, was it compassion or self-interest that drove her actions? _Did I just want someone who would fight for me?_ It doesn't matter now anyway, because now one of them is dead and, the moment they find out what happened, the others will doubtless be out for her blood.

The day gets hotter as the sun rises higher in the sky. Her neck is already burnt, but the sun still stings just as badly. There is sweat all over her face and back and she stops to massage her temples as she starts to get a thumping headache.

He gets some water out of his bag and chucks it to her, "Drink, you look like you need it."

She scowls at him, "No."

He shrugs and continues walking.

She gives in eventually and is relieved when she doesn't immediately keel over.

By early evening he seems satisfied that they are far enough away from the Careers to set up camp in a clearing, a couple of minutes away from a stream.

"Did you bring any good food with you?"

She opens her bag in reply, revealing four bananas, a loaf of bread, a pack of dried fruit, a couple of cans of tuna and a few granola bars, great for a day's trek, not so good when you can't replace it and have a hearty meal in the evening.

"Are you sure you didn't poison our food too?"

"Very."

She's still suspicious so she throws him a chunk of the bread. When he eats it straight away she relaxes, breaks off several more large chunks and gobbles it down with a can of tuna.

He tips his bag out too, it is clear that his supplies from the Cornucopia have long run out. Instead, he has a mixture of nuts, mushrooms, roots and berries, he eats a few with no hesitation. He tries to grab another chunk of bread but she pulls it out of his reach.

"I don't know why you're so angry with me."

"Really?"

"They were going to kill you, whether it be this week or next. I just decided to change the natural order of things and take out the 11."

"And you're not going to kill me too?"

"Oh I didn't say that, but I have use for you yet, much more than they ever did."

_Well that's comforting._

"Yet you were prepared to kill me earlier, if I didn't do what you said."

"I knew you weren't going to agree to die, I saw that much when we started the Games."

The words hurt and Veronica looks down, tracing patterns in the dirt.

"We have power here, Veronica, two Careers are already gone, over half the tributes are dead. Now we have the only two brains left here in the arena, would it really be so hard to beat them?"

"Yes, yes it would, you haven't seen Kurt and Ram throw a spear."

"So I propose we attack when they aren't holding spears." He speaks as if he is talking to a child and she wants to slap him for it.

"Genius! Why didn't I think of that?"

"We plan, Veronica, we look for their weaknesses and use them to take them out."

"Until you kill me like you did Martha."

He rolls his eyes, "Martha was dead the moment she was reaped, most of them were. How long do you think she would have lived had I made an effort to save her? It would only have been a day or two at most. Do you think if I'd waited longer she'd suddenly reveal hidden fighting skills, stabbing all the Careers while screaming 'fuck you, Heather,'?"

He has a point but she'd rather die than give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

Luckily the Panem Anthem cuts through the awkward silence.

As she expected, Heather is the only face in the sky that night – she winces, now they all know.

Despite how sweltering it's been all day, the temperature drops quickly now the sun is fading, she draws her legs in and resists the urge to shiver.

He gathers up some wood and gets some matches out of his pocket.

"What are you doing? You'll draw the Careers."

"They're not likely to see it at dusk, and anyway, they're probably still trying to work out what happened with you and Heather."

He's not wrong, so she lets him continue.

They don't talk as they sit around the fire. She's glad of it, though she's less glad that he keeps shooting her greedy looks, like a cat who's found the cream.

It's somehow still attractive.

She turns away so she can't see him and presses at the bruise that is now forming just below her shoulder until it stings.

She wonders what it's like back at the Career camp now. Surely they are shocked? They can't have expected Heather to have been the reason the cannon was fired this morning. They were probably waiting for her, for both of them, to come back, news of her latest kill on Heather's lips. What do they think happened? Do they think she got attacked? Or maybe they think she was betrayed…

Well to be fair, she's pretty sure Kurt and Ram are too pissed that they won't get their threesome to think of anything like that. She lets out an unconscious shiver at the thoughts of the groping hands on her body that she nearly had to endure. Escaping them is today's only silver lining.

As it gets dark, he stamps out the fire so it won't give them away.

"Do you have a sleeping bag?"

"No, but I have several blankets," he gets them out of his bag and tosses them over to her, "We should sleep in shifts, you first for four hours and then me."

He must be mad if he thinks she would agree to that, "There's no way I'm going to sleep in front of you!"

His smile is infuriatingly patronising, "I think we've established that if I wanted you dead you'd be curled in a ball whimpering, as your vital organs were slowly poisoning you, right now, darling. But if it makes you feel better you can take the first watch."

"And how do you know I won't kill you in your sleep?"

"Feel free, I'm sure the Careers will welcome you back with open arms, now they surely think you killed their leader and made off with some of their best resources."

He's right, of course, her backstabbing Heather would seem like a much more likely event than, "The weedy boy from District 12 poisoned his own district mate's water, watched Heather drink it and then let me live provided I became his ally." and she has no chance in the Games at this point without allies. She turns away so she can't see his smirk.

He leaves the knife between them, as if to goad her, and falls asleep without any trouble. She spends a long time staring at the knife, how easy it would be to pick it up and plunge it into his stomach, hitting as many internal organs as possible…

She doesn't move.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 4**

**District 1  
** Heather McNamara  
Ram Sweeny

 **District 2  
** ~~Heather Chandler~~  
 ~~David Remington~~

 **District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~  
Peter Dawson

 **District 4  
** Heather Duke  
Kurt Kelly

 **District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~  
 ~~Rodney Bulb~~

 **District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~  
Al Springer

 **District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~  
 ~~Bobby Young~~

 **District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9  
** Courtney Chadwick  
Keith Harrington

 **District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~  
 ~~Dennis Grundy~~

 **District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~  
 ~~Dwight Archer~~

 **District 12  
** ~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 1  
 **Survivors:** 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It amuses me that it’s literally taken me hitting the chapter halfway mark to get to the stuff I mentioned in this fic’s summary.


	10. Arena Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are finally at the JD chapters! Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think :)
> 
> This week’s song bingo is tricky, but one new and two repeats.

_Dear Diary_

_Good news! I am no longer with the Careers, counting down the days until they decide I am no longer useful. Bad news, I am now with a psychopath who has made it very clear that I will die painfully the moment I don't do what he says. On the bright side, if I die I'll never have to face the consequences of my poor life decisions and my ever growing body count…_

Veronica stares up at the sky, watching the clouds roll by. Around her, she can hear JD bustling about, but she ignores him, content to fake sleep for a little longer and think about how awful her reality is rather than facing it. She doesn't have her diary in the arena, of course, it's still sitting beside her bed in District 8, filled with plans she'll never undertake with friends she'll never see, but imagining how she would recount this shit-show is somehow comforting.

At least, she thinks, JD doesn't seem to have a desperation to get up and go hunting the way the Careers did every morning. That's not to say they can stay like this forever. The Careers are doubtless still out baying for blood and she's sure Heather and Heather will want to kill her the moment they catch up with her, and Kurt and Ram… well they'll probably want to fuck her before they kill her.

The unfortunate truth sinks in. She may have ended with him against her will, but she's going to have to co-operate with her captor to survive her new reality, however bleak her chances of survival are today compared to yesterday. Then again, maybe he's right, it's not like the Careers wouldn't have killed her sometime soon anyway. At least JD looks easier to overpower than the five tributes with bodies of pure muscle.

In any case, she needs to do everything to seem like she is playing this situation to her advantage. She is sure that, after yesterday, the cameras are on her and she refuses to be seen as a victim by anyone.

Groaning, she forces herself to push off her blankets and walk over to where JD is sitting, eating some of the berries he collected yesterday.

"No eggs and bacon for breakfast today I'm guessing." She says.

He looks up, smiles at her almost genuinely as she sits down beside him, "Nope, we're out of Capitol grub, except whatever stocks you have left. Anyway, it would be unwise to start a fire in the morning." He hands her a chestnut brown mushroom from his pile, "Here, try this."

His hand brushes hers as she takes it off him and she hates how somehow there are still butterflies mingling with the fear in her stomach.

She eyes it dubiously, turning it over in her hand, its underside is spongy yellow, she pokes it experimentally and it slowly turns blue. She doesn't remember seeing anything like this in the edible food section in the Training Centre.

"How do you know it's safe? Have you eaten them in 12?"

"No, I read about them, it's fine."

She looks at him, unconvinced.

"I knew I was going to volunteer. I did my research."

It's a fair point and makes her wonder how the fuck the Careers weren't trained with the same knowledge. Did their certainty that they were never going to go hungry really outweigh these basic survival techniques? Then again, she's always known she could be reaped and she's not sure she's even opened a book on plants or fungi.

She figures he's had plenty of other chances to poison her, so closes her eyes and takes a bite. The flavour is strong, slimy and slightly mulchy but not unpleasant, especially to her empty stomach. She breaks off a hunk of bread to go with it and throws him over a second chunk as thanks.

"There's lots more of them and other roots and berries around the arena and, from the looks of the nets you were making in training, we could easily catch some fish. Food isn't a worry."

Pushing down the part of her that's pleased he remembered, she tries to recall what happened to the net she made the first morning. Did she put it in her bag after joining the Heathers? No, no she'd lost it by then, she'd dropped it when she'd run from Brad and David. She picks up some branches and vines nearby and starts making a new one, desperate for something to do with her hands so she has an excuse not to look at him as he treks around, packing up the camp.

There's a cannon shot in the distance.

They both freeze for a second, "Guess the Careers are back in action."

"I'm not surprised," she says, "it was never going to hamper them for long, they didn't even like Heather much, David and Brad turned on her days ago." She thinks about suggesting they get on the move, but figures they're probably as safe here as anywhere else in the arena.

In an instant she has all his attention, he sits, cross-legged, across from her, "Tell me about your time there, what did you learn about them?"

She determinedly looks down at her net, avoiding his intense gaze, "They're Careers, they like killing people, you and they would probably get along."

"No, I need more than that. I want details, I want to understand."

She avoids the question again, "Why do you care?"

"It's how you win, Veronica. You have to know them if you want to beat them."

She looks up at him, doubtfully.

"Take Heather Chandler, for example, so sure she was the strongest and desperate to prove it to everyone else. Of course she was going to kill Martha, of course she was going to loot her bag and see the water bottle, it was a big one, a full one, a nice one. She'd won it herself, with her own strength and she was going to take the reward, she never even considered it would be trapped. Yet now she is dead and I never had to lay a hand on her."

He moves closer to her, muttering in her ear, the chill it creates sends goosebumps up her spine, "You have to understand them, learn what they want, learn what they fear, learn what motivates them, say the right words and you won't have to kill them. They'll do it themselves."

As much as she hates it, he's right, well, in principle at least, she's not sure every death will go as smoothly as the one he just described (and she's still wary of his sacrificing of allies becoming a habit), but it's not a bad tactic for someone like him.

Someone like them?

She continues focusing on weaving her net as they speak. It feels weird telling this to him, someone who will use the information to kill them, because what she discovered from three days with the Careers is that, beneath the murder and the arrogance, they weren't that different to her, not really. It feels like a betrayal of kinds, which is weird because she knows that they would sell her out without a second thought. _They're not your friends,_ she reminds herself, _they were never like Betty._

Though, of course, she betrayed Betty too.

"They're all strong, but you know that. They hunt in the day, starting as early as possible, they do it in groups, normally all the girls or all the boys, while the other group guards the supplies at the campsite. Kurt and Ram are fantastic with spears, can take out flying animals with one shot, so they'd probably barely have to look to attack someone on the ground. Dumb as two bricks though, they're the two most stupid, horny idiots I've ever met, and I spent a week with Brad."

She considers, "I do know quite a lot about Brad. He was a couple of years above me at school, he was strong, Captain of our school's football team, but not particularly bright. He liked having girls pay attention to him, winning trophies and getting praised. He always made such a thing about how proud he was to represent our school in the pathetic little league they competed in. Pauline ate it all up though, she's convinced he's going to be victor, I bet she's the reason I haven't got any sponsor gifts yet. She's probably wrong anyway, he's on his own now and, while he's strong and can weave a nice net, he certainly can't use weapons half as well as any of the Careers."

"And Heather and Heather?"

Veronica gulps, "Heather McNamara is strong and really good with close combat but has the shortest attention span, she's the first to get bored and complain when hunting and the first to scream when something goes wrong."

"The weakest link?"

"No, not really, Heather Duke got the lower training score. Heather Chandler used to pick on her for it a lot." She pauses, thinking, "but maybe she sensed there was more to Heather Duke, there was something under the surface with her, maybe she knew she was a threat and that's why she spent so much time putting her down. Heather Duke was clearly the cleverest of them all, for a start she was the only one actually paying attention to the Games and their competitors."

He nods, "And she no longer has Heather Chandler as a leader."

"She doesn't like blood though, throws up at the sight of it. Which can't be a particularly good thing when it comes to winning the Games."

He's quiet as he absorbs all of this new information. She nearly asks what he's thinking, but she decides that knowing would only make her feel more awful.

"Some of this is probably just useless politics."

"No, it's good, it's a lot more than we knew before, anything else you can think of?"

 _They were kind to me._ Veronica doesn't say, _both Heathers were not cruel to me at all._ But then again they made mincemeat out of Martha without a second thought, so kind is probably not something she could describe them as anyway. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand and pushes the thought away.

"No. Not for the moment. I'll see if I can think of anything else."

If he suspects she's not being completely honest, he doesn't let on, and thankfully leaves her to complete her weaving in silence.

xxx

They share the rest of the bread and tuna for lunch, with a banana each and some of his berries for dessert. It's substantial enough, but she can't help thinking that if she were still with the Careers there would have been a lot more on offer.

"Do you think we should move?" she asks, "We've been here all day."

"We should get some food later, but otherwise, I think we're ok here for the moment."

"The Careers will still be searching for us, unless you have some long distance fast acting poison, I don't like our chances if they attack."

"I didn't say we were safe. We just have as much chance of them finding us here as anywhere else. They're so loud we'll get a head start anyway. I hope you can run fast."

_Oh yeah, you have a great track record of helping your allies run away from the Careers._

"This would be a lot easier if you hadn't forced me to run from them in the first place."

He puts his hands in the air, frustrated, "We've been over this Veronica, how long do you really think they were going to put up with you being their little servant? I needed to get you out of there as soon as possible, you barely seemed to notice the Careers were dangerous, killing Heather Chandler was the perfect opportunity. You're welcome, by the way."

She makes sure it doesn't show on her face when she thinks about Kurt and Ram, about Heather Chandler's threat that night, "I was doing fine. I had everything under control until you ruined it all. I didn't want you to kill Heather, I didn't want to be with you."

There's a flicker of annoyance in his expression and she relishes having broken his impassivity, he moves towards her, face a hair's breadth away from hers, his voice a dangerous snarl, "I think Veronica, that you are glad Heather Chandler is dead. You know I did everyone in this arena a favour by offing her before she could kill anyone else. You just don't like to admit I'm right."

She feels goosebumps rush up her arms at his presence and she shifts back uncomfortably. Heather would have killed her. Heather let her live. Heather threatened her. Heather kept her safe. Heather killed mercilessly. Heather died suddenly. Heather died in front of her, horrifically, with fear in her eyes.

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

She's being childish, she knows she is. She's being childish in front of the whole of Panem, but somehow it's refreshing to just shout, to blame someone, to let her frustration out just a little. Between the volatile nature of Heather Chandler and the rest of the Careers and the fear that followed her meet up with JD, it's the only chance she's had in days.

He wets his lips.

"Am…" he kisses her then, both hands gripping her hair as he forces her mouth towards his. She thinks about pushing him off, but instead kisses him back, her arms snaking around his shoulders, pulling him in just as forcefully.

It's not like the last time, last time she felt like a teenager sneaking away from her parents, giving into her first experiences of the adult world with a bad boy who reeked of danger and excitement. This time she is no longer a child. He is a remorseless murderer and she is well on her way to joining him, they crash together because they are both broken and in their fury and lust is a desire that maybe together they will form a whole. That this, for just a moment, will make everything better. She hates him, she hates him with every beat of her blackened heart, but whatever cruel twist of fate that brought them together has entwined them.

There is a loud crunch of leaves and twigs as he pushes her to the ground, hands on each shoulder. Another kiss, rough, almost violent, his mouth and body moving over her in a way that would terrify her if she wasn't so desperate for it herself, addicted to the way it pushes all her memories, all her self loathing and fears to the back of her mind.

"They're drones, Veronica," he seethes, "Capitol drones, trained for obedience, happy to kill the weak if it means they can keep their comfortable existence. When the revolution comes, and make no mistake – as soon as the fuse is lit it will, they will fight on the side of their masters, they want to be in a world run by them."

Her stomach dips at the idea of revolution, the certainty he has that it will happen feels foreign to her. Her world has always consisted of a resigned acceptance of a hard but liveable existence. An image flashes beneath her eyelids, a vision of fire, the whole world an arena, and him, watching mercilessly from above, that wolfish smile painting his face. She shivers.

"I would want to be in a world run by you even less," she hisses, between forceful kisses, "better the devil you know." And she doesn't know him, she realises, even as her tongue sweeps the inside of his mouth, she has no idea how much he is capable of and she has a primal fear of every new fact she finds out.

He raises his eyebrows, his hands grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the ground so he can move even closer to her, his lips moving on her ear as he speaks, "good thing you will never live in a world run by me then, darling, though I question the idea that you don't want revenge on the world run by fear, that you live in now." She flinches a little at his traitorous words (the death threat is unpleasant but expected), still slightly fearful they'll be heard and struck down by this new act of rebellion.

"Let me tell you a fun fact, Veronica Sawyer," he continues, "there's a building in the Capitol with a purple dome for a roof, that's where they keep all their weapons. And that dome is stuffed, right to the top with hundreds of nuclear bombs, each one on their own more than enough to turn an entire district to ashes. And they will, the moment you dare to want more than they will let you have, they will kill you all without remorse. These are your enemies Veronica, the people so powerful that they could crush you and everyone you care about with a single bomb."

She can see absolutely no way that he would know this fact, weapons storage is hardly something the Capitol would advertise, especially to a moody teenage psychopath in District 12. Even so, the certainty in his tone makes it almost believable. It makes her feel small, insignificant, just a cog in his plan, just like she is a cog in the Capitol's system of oppression.

She could be so easily disposed of by both.

She is done with being weak.

As his hands snake down to go under her shirt, she rolls them over, relishing the fact that she is just as strong as him, straddles his hips and pulls her shirt and the sports bra underneath it off, flinging them both into the undergrowth before grabbing and ripping off his shirt too.

She watches his eyes, which had widened in surprise, darken with desire. He reaches for her, but she moves from his arms, out of range of his whispering mouth. Instead, she moves further down, pushing down her pants, taking her time and far more touching than is strictly necessary to remove his own. Until finally, when he is groaning and begging does she connect them.

She knows somewhere the Gamemakers are hastily turning off the cameras, maybe somewhere else there are raucous cheers in bars as the patrons realise what is going on, her parents are looking through their fingers, her classmates are staring open-mouthed at the girl they thought shy and unattractive. And JD, JD writhes beneath her, every movement, every groan he makes is because of her.

Just for this moment, she is in control of them all. The power is exhilarating.

When she orgasms she makes no attempt to silence it. She hopes the Gamemakers have heard it all.

Afterwards though, she feels as weak as ever.

She dresses quickly, not meeting his eyes, he's looking at her intently again and she can't tell if the glint in his eye is because he's impressed or angry.

"The net's finished," she says, "I should put it in the water."

xxx

She takes her sweet time at the river. She's carrying her knife, she's not an idiot, but it's nice here, it's peaceful and potentially so boring that the cameras won't be on her. She puts the net downstream as the trainer taught her to, and does her best to cover it, so it's not so obvious that their camp is nearby.

Then she sits. She sits and stares at the swirling water. Part of her wants to cry, but she can't pinpoint exactly why. Instead, she reaches into her pocket and gets out the handkerchief Cecelia gave her, looks at the skyline she'll never see again. If she squints at it she can pretend she's looking out her bedroom window, that the last few weeks have just been the cruellest of pre-reaping day nightmares.

Eventually, she pulls herself together and forces herself onto her feet. If it was just him waiting for her she might have spent all day there to spite him, but the Capitol are watching and she needs to prove that she can survive rather than just be controlled by whichever tribute she ends up meeting.

When she returns to the clearing he's cleaned up, ready to search for food. She joins him, trying her best to use the information she picked up in the Training Centre; where to locate the best mushrooms, how to distinguish poisonous fruit from safe ones, he adds his own selection of mushrooms, berries and roots that he knows are safe from God knows where. She keeps careful note of what is supplied by him and resolves to make sure he always takes a bite of whatever they are eating first.

By the end of the day, they have quite a selection of food, nothing like what she had access to yesterday morning, but enough to keep them sustained, especially if her net has managed to catch some fish. They return to the clearing to set up dinner.

The Panem Anthem plays as they are inspecting their haul and they look to the sky. Just one today, the boy from 6. Al. The one Betty liked.

"He had a girlfriend," she says, "he wanted to come home for her."

"She must have known he wouldn't make it."

She looks at him, "That's not really the point. She loved him, she would have hoped, even against the odds. Don't you have anyone who wants you back alive?"

"No."

The matter-of-fact tone of his voice silences her for a while.

"I wonder who did it," she says, eventually.

"I'll give you four guesses."

"It could be Brad, though he seems to be keeping his head down."

"It's one tribute down, in any case."

She nods silently. Their conversation is over.

xxx

It's a cloudy night so they decide to risk another fire. He leaves her to set it up, while he goes to refill their water and check the net for fish. She puts the roots and mushrooms on to boil in a small saucepan she got from his bag.

The wood is dry, so it takes no time until the fire is roaring and the pot bubbling.

JD is not back yet, so she grabs a blanket, places her knife beside her and lies down, watching the clouds roll over the moon.

It's been quiet today. Too quiet really. Doubtless some of it is because the Capitol are entertained enough by whatever JD is doing to her and… well… depending on how much got shown, starting to fuck on camera might have helped… Or maybe the Careers hunting Al was enough of a show. Of course, it could be because the other tributes are close by, or the Gamemakers are planning something to make sure they soon are...

As if the Gamemakers can read her thoughts there is an ear-splitting rumble of thunder. She scrabbles to her feet, trying to work out where it is coming from. She hasn't seen any lighting, so it might be a little far away, but the thunder was so loud…

There's a flash and a bolt of lightning misses her by a whisker, leaving a black burn in the centre of the blanket where she had just been sitting.

_Fuck._

There's another crash of thunder and she instinctively dashes from where she was standing, but when the lightning comes, not five seconds later, it lands not there but near the lake. She freezes, unsure of what to do. Does she run or will she just risk hitting a dead end? Does she just do her best to dodge the bolts? And is it her, or is the arena heating up?

The smell of smoke assaults her nostrils first a little then, in almost no time, it is overwhelming.

JD comes tearing out of the forest. A wall of fire behind him, a wild look that she has not seen before etched on his face. He looks around until he sees her silhouette and his mouth forms into a grimace, he's back in control again, a semblance of a plan forming in his mind. He runs towards her, his hand is still wet from the river, but his grip is solid and determined as he grasps her hand.

There is no time to grab the bags, she casts her eyes around for her knife but then remembers it's still by the blanket. But she can't care, not now, not as a third rumble assaults her ears, and she barely has time to shout, "That isn't how lightning works!" Before he is pulling her through the forest, far away from the raging flames and the bolt that strikes moments later.

Rain starts pouring down in torrents, obscuring their vision, their feet slip and slide in the mud, branches scratching their arms and legs, his hand clasps hers tightly so they don't lose each other, thoughts of cunning plans or the supplies they left in the clearing are forgotten as they do their best to outrun their deaths.

The thunder continues, the lightning bolts coming ever sooner afterwards. Sometimes they set a tree alight, giving them even less of a chance to outrun the flames. She loses track of the time, all there is in the universe is her and him and the inferno which is getting ever closer.

Smoke stings her eyes until she has to squeeze them shut, but even this does not stop the tears pouring down her face. She clings onto his hand like a lifeline as they stumble through the undergrowth, her lungs attempting to find any oxygen in the scalding air that surrounds them. Her legs are aching, her head is spinning, she wants to give in, to lie down until it is all over. Still, his hand grips hers, tighter, tighter as she begins to fade, determinedly pulling as if he can see a passage through this nightmare.

After an eternity of hell, the woodlands start clearing, giving way to rocky terrain. It's only when he starts pulling her up to where the air is infinitesimally cooler that she realises that they must have hit the mountains.

They scrabble upwards, he lets go of her hand to get to higher ground, but he is always there to pull her up, higher, higher, until the fire cannot follow and, for one brief, beautiful, moment, there is something other than smoke and flames behind her eyelids.

The thunder roars and once more they have to move, he grasps her hand again. She squints, trying to see where he is leading her. In front of them is a cave, it is pitch black inside and the entrance looks unnervingly like a lion's mouth, complete with jagged rocks that look like knife-sharp teeth. She runs straight in. It's what she's been doing for days now anyway.

It is noticeably cooler as soon as they enter. She takes a breath of the air and immediately coughs it back up, but the breath after is everything. There's another boom in the sky, but, though it lights up the cave, the lightning can no longer get to them.

She's spluttering and retching but she is alive, she has survived. At last her hand slips from his iron grip as they collapse against each other, she buries her head in his shoulder, sobbing with relief. She loathes herself for letting him see it, but it's either him or the Capitol and she'd rather die than have them see her moment of weakness. He holds her tightly against him. They stay that way for a long time, clinging to each other, safe in the cave, with the rolling thunder and the pounding rain outside.

When she feels like she can face the cameras without looking like a crying wreck she untangles herself from him. In the hazy light from the fire below, his face, black with soot, is almost unrecognisable. It makes it even easier for her to look at him and not see the boy that just yesterday held a knife to her stomach.

She owes him her life. She's sure of it. Without him she would have given up long before she escaped the fire. She can tell herself all she wants that he tried to kill her the day before, but the simple truth is not one of the Careers would have had a second thought about leaving her to die.

Back in District 8, she might be able to get away with a thanks and a favour, but this is the Hunger Games and she doesn't want to be in anyone's debt, least of all his.

Her captor, her saviour, her enemy, her lover.

Her murderer.

She is grateful, she wants to slap him, she wants to laugh, she wants to cry. She wants Pauline to have picked any other name at the reaping, she wants to go home.

Mostly she's just furious.

Not at him, not completely anyway, maybe at herself, for being so feeble as to need his help, at fate for bringing her here, at Panem for watching, at…

There's a shuffle near the back of the cave and, though her eyes cannot quite make out the figure in the dark, it is clear that they are not alone.

They turn, both instantly alert. She reaches for her knife until she remembers that they left without it, so she grabs his hand as it's the only other source of comfort.

The figure freezes, clearly not intending to get caught, and for a few moments they stare at each other, until the lightning comes again, illuminating the cave and his face.

It's Peter.

And suddenly her anger has a target.

She lets go of JD's hand and stalks towards him.

"You." She hisses.

As she approaches she can see his features more clearly in the firelight, and any trace of hope escapes from his face at her outburst.

"Veronica, it's ok, I won't harm you," he puts his hands up, showing he is unarmed.

Lightning strikes as she replies, "But you have harmed me though. You harmed Betty. You were her district partner, you were supposed to go with her. You agreed to go with her, she told me."

His back is already against the wall so he sidesteps to avoid her approach, as if he thinks he might be able to sneak out the entrance of the cave and find another shelter from the terrible storm.

"I tried Veronica, I did, but I was scared, ok? I didn't want to die."

Veronica laughs humourlessly, as she edges him ever closer to the entrance of the cave.

"But you are going to die, Peter. Your number was up the moment you were reaped. You know it. I know it. A snivelling little coward like you was never going to win. But you could have made a difference, you could have made it mean something, but now you're just spending your final days being a performing monkey for the Capitol, just like they wanted."

Thunder rumbles, and it makes Peter's trembling body shake even more, he steps backwards, out of the cave's entrance and onto the ragged rocks outside, apparently not noticing that he is being soaked in rain.

Good. She wants someone to be scared of her. She grins manically as she stalks towards him, he retreats several steps, along the ever dwindling ledge, to avoid her, "I'm right, aren't I?"

As a final hope, he looks at JD for support, but the boy stands impassive, if slightly amused.

"But you didn't follow her either." He bursts out suddenly.

Lightning strikes again, illuminating their surroundings for a moment, and whatever Peter sees in her face in that instant must be terrifying, for he stumbles backwards, inches from the edge of the cliff. Any remaining blood drains out of his face as he throws his arms out and regains his balance, missing death by an inch.

So she lunges forward, places two hands on his shoulder and pushes.

This time there is no way to stop his fall, and the next rumble of thunder is too late to hide his scream. All she can do is watch as he disappears into the darkness.

When the bolt comes, it hits Peter square in the chest. Light fills the sky so she can see his silhouette clearly as the shock throws him into the air. But then the moment passes and all that is left of him is the thump of his body hitting the ground and the boom of a cannon.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 5**

**District 1  
** Heather McNamara  
Ram Sweeny

 **District 2  
** ~~Heather Chandler~~  
 ~~David Remington~~

 **District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~  
 ~~Peter Dawson~~

 **District 4  
** Heather Duke  
Kurt Kelly

 **District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~  
 ~~Rodney Bulb~~

 **District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~  
 ~~Al Springer~~

 **District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~  
 ~~Bobby Young~~

 **District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9  
** Courtney Chadwick  
Keith Harrington

 **District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~  
 ~~Dennis Grundy~~

 **District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~  
 ~~Dwight Archer~~

 **District 12  
** ~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 2  
 **Survivors:** 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my attention that next week’s chapter coincides with a day where lots of people (including myself) might be busy. I have decided to upload anyway, because I figure what better Christmas present is there than sitting down after your Christmas dinner and reading about JD’s tragic backstory?


	11. Arena Day 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to all who celebrate (and Happy Friday to those who don’t!)!!!!
> 
> As promised, here is your (entirely not Christmas themed) Christmas chapter.
> 
> Bingo: Just one this time, it’s new.
> 
> No deaths for Christmas!

The cave is cold when she wakes. It makes a contrast to the white hot fury she felt the night before.

The lightning and fire had stopped almost instantly after Peter's death (clearly the Gamemakers had felt her late night entertainment was satisfactory) and after that the temperature dropped unnaturally fast. They'd left all their supplies when they ran from the storm, and they'd had to take off most of their sodden clothes, so with nothing but their own bodies to protect them from the icy cold winds blowing in, and the weather too bad to bother guarding against intruders, they'd gone to sleep curled in each other's arms.

Forcing herself to untangle from his still sleeping form and making her aching, burnt body face the bleak morning feels like an appropriate way to atone for her sins. He doesn't stir, he's probably exhausted from all the running the night before, she is too, she can feel it in her bones.

He looks surprisingly peaceful when he sleeps, no signs of the disturbances and nightmares the rest of them have. The morning light shines on his body and she sees freckles on his face, normally when she's this close to him she's too busy kissing or wanting to slap him to notice. In sleep, he is more classically handsome, though without the smirk playing on his features she finds it harder to find him attractive.

_God, what is wrong with me?_

She looks further down to his exposed chest, she can see every one of his ribs clearly under his skin. Veronica has never lived in luxury, she's had the odd winter where they've had to ration their food, but she ventures she's never felt starvation like he has in 12. From this angle she can see all the imperfections on his body; there are fresh scratches and burns, ones that match her own from last night, but there are others too, some could have been from earlier this week, but others are clearly scars. She feels an odd compulsion to ask him about them, to understand his suffering, but he'll probably just lie, so she turns away.

Looking out of the cave she can see the pouring rain last night has given way to thick fog. Her clothes are still sodden but she forces herself to put them on and wanders outside, collecting what twigs and leaves she can. She sees some smudged footprints in the mud leading to the edge of the cliff and retreats quickly.

Her first kill. Her first real one at least.

And it hadn't been someone who deserved it, not really, Peter hadn't senselessly murdered anyone nor was he an anonymous face. She'd talked to him, laughed with him, comforted him before they were called in to be scored. How could he have known that day in the Training Centre, barely a week ago, that he was holding hands with his killer?

She thinks back, tries to convince herself that maybe what she did was an accident, maybe she pushed not really thinking he would fall. But the memory is branded on her brain, of seeing him there, just by the edge, knowing one push would be what it took and running forward to do it. She can see the look of shock and hurt on his features, so similar to his district partner's in her final moments.

 _If he'd just been loyal to Betty he would have been dead already_ , she tries to reason.

But then again, so would she.

All she knew was she was here and alone and would never be able to go back to the way things were before she was reaped. That the only light she'd had since then had been taken away so quickly, so brutally, with a look of betrayal on her face. Someone needed to pay for Betty's death, but she wasn't ready, she needed JD and Peter was easier to kill than all of the Capitol.

It had felt good, if only for a second, to have been able to do _something._

And it's not like he'd have got out of the cave alive anyway, she has no doubt that JD would have made quick work of Peter, had she not got to him first.

Anyway, it's done now, the line has been crossed. You can say "I was a thief," "I used to smoke." But everyone stays dead.

You never stop being a murderer. Not until you die.

In a way, she's glad Betty is gone. Imagining the look upon the girl's face when she saw what Veronica has become is bad enough, she doesn't think she'd survive seeing the real thing.

When she has enough twigs she heads back inside to start a fire. The fog, she reasons, will provide enough cover for the flames. But once she's inside she realises that she has no matches and the wood is probably too wet to set alight anyway.

Instead she sits, back to the cold cave wall, hugging her knees, with nothing to distract her from her thoughts, except maybe her rumbling stomach.

xxx

A strange beeping a few minutes later brings her to her senses. She spends a few moments looking around for the source before she looks up and sees a large pot descending from the mist, landing at the cave's entrance.

Her first parachute. A gift paid for by those watching. She has fans.

She opens it eagerly, it's a thick meaty stew with lots of bread to go with it.

Maybe her new alliance and his modus operandi have their benefits after all.

She considers eating it without him, but that probably would result in a blade in the stomach, instead she shakes him awake.

"Look what we earnt."

"You earnt it, my mentor hates me, remember?" he says, but his eyes light up eagerly when he sees what it is.

They decide to finish it off, partly due to a lack of self-control, last night's dinner was lost to the flames and all that running for their lives yesterday has given them quite the appetite, but also because the stew is so nice and hot on this cold morning and they're loath to let it cool down.

It's only when she's using the last of the bread to mop up around the edge of the pot that she notices some colour behind a rock at the back of the cave.

"Ah-ha," she says, as she goes over and pulls out what must have been Peter's bag.

They look through it eagerly, but come up mildly disappointed; there's a half-filled water bottle, some half-eaten beef jerky, some berries that JD says he doesn't want to risk (so she makes sure they are immediately tossed), a small and rather blunt dagger and a torch. However, beside the bag is some dry firewood and a box of matches and in the cold cave, with the fog and slippery rocks making it too dangerous to head down the mountain, nothing seems more welcome.

With the dry wood they make quick work of a fire and then strip so they can dry out their clothes.

Sitting on the sandy ground, with a full stomach and a fire to heat them up, it is surprisingly homely.

"Last night I was pretty sure I never wanted to see fire again" she says, "that was fucking terrifying. I can't believe they did that to us."

He stares pensively at the flames, "The lightning was ingenious really, the way the thunder came first gave us enough warning to have a sporting chance, but it was unnatural enough to mess with us psychologically."

She looks at him for a long time, trying to decipher the genuine excitement and admiration in his expression as she rubs a particularly painful burn, "I wouldn't call us nearly dying ingenious."

He waves her comment away, "I would have rather not been in the middle of it, but objectively it was smart, and anyway we survived."

"I have some nasty burns."

"We made good TV."

She sighs, it's silly to put these kinds of things to him. She watched the way he didn't get bothered at all by Betty, Rodney and Dennis' suicide (when even the Careers were flustered), how he let Martha die as she screamed for him and his cold amusement as he pressed a knife to her stomach. He doesn't care who lives or dies, he just wants to watch the world burn and know that it's his doing. In another universe, he's a Gamemaker, springing psychological traps so ruthless they'd make this arena look like a picnic.

Yet here she is, imagining the fact he saved her life when she was still useful is anything other than a tactical move.

She changes the topic rapidly, "So, are you ever going to tell me why you volunteered?"

"I did, the day we met and again in my interview."

"They were different answers! And both were stupid."

He shrugs and grabs the dagger. She nearly starts, but he just picks up a nearby stone and moves it against the blade. For a while the only sound is the crackling of the fire and the rhythmic scratching of metal against rock.

"I wonder how Peter's family are coping today." She says when she can bear the silence no longer.

He makes a face, clearly thinking she's being ridiculous, "He'd have died anyway. It was fast. I'm sure they were glad it was you and not the Careers or the flames."

"I hardly think they'll be singing my praises any time soon."

And in a flash it's back in her mind, the anger, the terror on his face, his scream as he tumbled into the darkness ringing in her ears.

She needs it to stop.

She reaches out instinctively, sticks her hand in the flame, holding it there for as long as possible until it hurts like hell and the palm of her hand is a satisfying shade of bright red.

He doesn't react. He doesn't desperately try to grab her hand to get her to stop as Betty would have. He doesn't even give her a "what the fuck are you doing, you weirdo?" like she's sure the Heathers would have.

On the contrary, his smirk has a look of what appears to be triumph. He tosses over the water bottle, "Put it against you, you need to cool down the burn or you won't be able to hold anything and you'll be of no use." And continues sharpening.

She looks at the insensitive bastard with all the hate she can muster and lets it sting for a few more minutes before giving in.

xxx

They stay that way for a while, him with the dagger, her nursing her hand. She is so busy contemplating who she is, what she's found she's capable of and whether what she's just done has made her look so wimpy that she's ruined her chances of ever getting a sponsor gift again, that it takes her a moment to notice that the sound of scraping metal has stopped.

She looks up. He's staring at her, brow furrowed, as if on the edge of something.

In an instant, he drops the blade and stone on the floor. Kisses her, hard, like he hasn't just enjoyed watching her burn herself and doesn't expect her to even try to push him away, and she doesn't, so maybe he's right.

He's as cold and heartless and murderous as the rest of her world, but his body is warm and his lips are soft against hers.

His fingertips, trailing down her arms leave goosebumps in their wake, but whether they're from arousal or fear she does not know.

She lets him dominate her. She has no desire to control, not now, just a desire to forget, just a desire to know that someone still wants her after what she did.

It's stupid, it's ridiculous, it's disgusting because she hates him. She should hate him with everything in her being.

But it's ok because she hates herself just as much.

When they are done he doesn't let her move apart from him. Instead, he grips both her wrists, pulls her towards them so their naked bodies are side by side, noses practically touching.

His lips move, but barely a sound comes out, and she knows this was the reason for his indecision earlier, for his kiss and fuck right now. He wanted the cameras off them.

And sure enough, his words are the furthest from pillow talk.

"My mother was a fighter. She had a plan. She was going to blow up the Capitol, she was going to start the revolution."

She tenses. She can feel her pulse beating fast in her clasped wrists. He has brazenly uttered treason before, but not like this. If the mics pick up one word she knows there will be a sudden fatal cave-in right now. Still, she doesn't push away, the answers to the questions she had from the moment she saw him are too pressing.

"And she got captured trying to do it?" she breathes.

"She never had a chance," he says bluntly, "my dad found out. He went to the Peacekeepers the next day. They came in with machine guns, beat me just because I was there, knocked her unconscious and dragged her away."

"They put up a stage in the Central Square, told the whole district they had to watch, I'd never seen anything that big that wasn't for the Games, tied her to a stake on top of a bonfire and burnt her alive. They dragged me up on the stage too, so I was front and centre and they all could see me watching as she screamed and then crumbled into nothingness. My hair reeked of burning flesh for a week. I was ten." His voice is emotionless as he recalls this, leaving her unable to tell whether it's his way of blocking out his pain, or if he just doesn't care.

"Did anyone… protest?" she asks, carefully.

"They all watched and did nothing. Our mayor lit the fire, he seemed to enjoy it."

"Oh," she says lamely, taking it all in.

It seems rather outlandish, but it would explain a lot. If his mom was a revolutionary, it would explain the knowledge of the Capitol; of what is there, of what they do, when all she's heard is propaganda and unreliable rumours. It would explain his hatred of the system, in a way that is stronger than just the suffering that they all experience, and would mean his desire for revolution was more than just a love of chaos.

However, it occurs to her that his last ally is dead because he lied to her. She's sure he could weave Martha pretty lies about district loyalty just as easily as he could make up sympathetic reasons for his plans of revolution. There's a reason he has told her this, and it might be just that he wants her to believe his story.

She also knows that, if this is true, had his father not told on his mother and she had been caught anyway – both he and his father would also be ashes in the wind, unable to tell this tale at all.

"You still haven't answered my question," she mutters, "why did this make you volunteer?"

He pauses for so long that she thinks he's ignoring her, "A year later one of her co-conspirator's children got reaped, and being a kid from 12, she died in the bloodbath."

"They rigged it? They can do that?" she asks, hating how naive she sounds, even to her own ears.

"Of course they can, it's not even hard. If they don't just rig it in the Capitol, all the ballots are delivered to the districts several weeks before the reaping. All you need is to know where the ballots are kept and swap them out. It's not like anyone checks all the names afterwards, and if they did it would be too late. I've been waiting my turn for years, next year would have been my last, I guess I ran out of patience."

"But you'd have had the most chance of winning at 18 or – you know – maybe they'd decided not to pick you at all?"

The barest movement of his shoulder indicates a shrug, "It saved me spending another reaping not knowing if they were planning to torture me this year."

He's not telling her everything, she can feel it, "Still seems a bit extreme."

He grins, "I thought I'd beat them at their own favourite game, I find the extreme always makes an impression."

She kisses him, not sure if it's the act they're putting on for the cameras, a way to shut him up or something else. There is still a burn on her hand to remind her who he is, but there are burns all over both their bodies to remind them that they have a common enemy.

xxx

By early afternoon the fog has cleared enough that they have a good view of the woodland below them.

"We should probably make our way down," she says, "it would be good to get some food for tomorrow."

"We need to go back to the Cornucopia."

"What? No! You are aware that the food and resources there are guarded by a pack of vicious Careers, right?"

"Yes. But we need to go."

"Why?"

"Trust me." He says.

She gives him a look, "No." but when he ignores her and gets up to leave she follows him anyway.

_Fine, tell me your life story, but don't tell me why I'm risking my life. And of course it doesn't matter if I say no._

If nothing else, they do need more supplies and weapons than what was in Peter's meagre backpack. Fighting the Careers seems to be the wrong way to go about it though.

There are enough puddles in the rocks for them to fill Peter's water bottle on the way down from the mountain. She's impressed by how high up they are, but she supposes when you're running for your life you push yourself harder than usual. Still, she is pleased when they return to the protection of the forest.

As she follows him, weaving her way through the trees, she looks at him slightly differently. It feels odd knowing there's more to him than just a psychopath who volunteered for the Games for the fun of it, that there's some sort of meaning to this, even if she doesn't quite understand it. But it also reminds her of the plan she was so sure he had when she first met him. This mysterious mission to the Cornucopia is part of it, she thinks. She's part of it too, but what part of it, and exactly how horrible it will be she has yet to figure out.

She remembers something he said to her in the Training Centre, "The mayor? The one you were talking about earlier? Was he Martha's father?" she says.

"Yes," he says, not pausing in his stride.

It's a little later that she asks her next question, "Did you like your mom, JD?"

This one makes him hesitate, "Yes," he says, "yes, I did."

xxx

As the sun starts to set, they find a bracken covered area to stay the night, helping themselves to the food they foraged on the walk for dinner. There's no water nearby, but they have enough to last the night and JD seems very keen to set off as early as possible tomorrow.

They still have no blankets or sleeping bags, so she does her best to remember what she was taught at the Training Centre about putting together a shelter, resting branches against a tree trunk and weaving bracken and twigs between them. He laughs when he sees it, but joins her inside nonetheless.

"It _is_ warmer here than outside," she insists, ignoring the fact it's probably his body heat.

The Panem Anthem plays but the only face that appears in the sky is Peter's.

"No deaths today," she comments, "the Careers are letting us down."

He raises his arms in mock frustration, "They had one job!"

She sniggers despite herself but sobers up when she thinks of Peter, the first few days the Careers had indeed been ruthless, but now they're not the only one with blood on their hands.

Now, maybe, just maybe, the Careers aren't seen as the only tributes who have a chance of winning.

"Do you think they're showing much of what we're doing?"

"Certainly, we're the most interesting story on screen. Back in the Capitol we're probably stars by now."

She's felt so apart from the rest of the world these past few days, it's bizarre to imagine everyone there feeling like they're right beside her, "You think?"

"The Careers are always the same. They put on a fake united front for the first week or so and then descend into petty squabbling and murder. Do you really think anyone is going to be invested in them?"

She's seen as many Games as him, and he's not wrong, "You think the Capitol wants us to win?"

He snorts, "Not me. I'm hardly the Gamemaker's ideal victor. It's bad enough I'm from the poorest district, exterminating the assholes from places they actually want to funnel money into, and that's not even getting into the issues with my mom. You though, I'm sure they think you'd wear it a lot better, an underdog but not a threatening one, poor but not too poor, good at talking but not incendiary and of course you're very pretty. They'd fucking love you to win."

"I'm not sure I'm so clean anymore either, not after last night with my outburst to Peter about following Betty and such stuff."

"But you didn't follow them did you? You did what you were told and took out another attempted conspirator while you were at it. All they will have done is muted your words and upped the sound of thunder for the public, no harm done. You're still in their good books."

 _That's almost worse,_ she thinks.

"Well, in that case, we'd better not let Panem down."

He replies with a grim smile.

xxx

She takes first watch; her thoughts have been bad enough today, she doesn't feel like facing her nightmares just yet. She holds the torch, ready to spring into action at any unusual sounds, but both Careers and muttations seem to be sleeping as the night is silent except for the sound of the wind rushing through the trees. It's not surprising, if she thinks about it, she imagines the Gamemakers would much prefer the inevitably bloody confrontation tomorrow rather than them being killed off quietly during the night.

She leans back against the tree trunk and gazes through the gap she's left as a doorway at the stars, trying to work out if they are artificial (there are so many more here than she can see through the smog at home), and wonders if there is any chance she can survive the dangers tomorrow will bring.

And whether she deserves to.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 6**

**District 1**  
Heather McNamara  
Ram Sweeny

**District 2**  
~~Heather Chandler~~  
~~David Remington~~

**District 3**  
~~Betty Finn~~  
~~Peter Dawson~~

**District 4**  
Heather Duke  
Kurt Kelly

**District 5**  
~~Shannon Lucas~~  
~~Rodney Bulb~~

**District 6**  
~~Cathy Stone~~  
~~Al Springer~~

**District 7**  
~~Tracy Hophead~~  
~~Bobby Young~~

**District 8**  
Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9**  
Courtney Chadwick  
Keith Harrington

**District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~  
~~Dennis Grundy~~

**District 11**  
~~Phyllis McCarthy~~  
~~Dwight Archer~~

**District 12**  
~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 0  
**Survivors:** 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No deaths for Christmas!
> 
> A bit of a quieter chapter than we’ve had in a while, but I hope it’s answered a few of the JD questions you guys might have had (and maybe prompted several more!) and I promise next week’s chapter is hella action filled (and is also the longest chapter in the fic) – which I guess is a good way of starting the New Year?
> 
> …I also want to very subtly point out that comments are fantastic Christmas presents.


	12. Arena Day 7 (and fanart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! I hope 2021 treats us all a bit better than 2020 did. I hope you guys all had a good NYE, mine was very virtual what with the new fast spreading variant of COVID running wild where I am, but still good fun.
> 
> Bingo: one new (which is… not particularly subtle), one repeat
> 
> Please note: I know literally nothing about explosives, as this chapter might prove, but Hunger Games has loads of weird and wacky technology, so please just accept what’s said in this chapter as true in this universe.
> 
> What better way to start 2021 than with 6500 words and lots of murder?

**But first!!! LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF FANART Alexandra_dAutriche MADE ME! It's amazing and made me so happy …and I feel it's very thematically relevant for this chapter.**

He shakes her awake as the dawn is breaking. The sunrise is stunning, vivid reds, yellows, pinks, even purples light up the sky, framing the branches of the trees, it's far from the muted colours you could see through the factories and smog in 8. She imagines the Capitol at least appreciates such a pretty backdrop to their ugly deeds.

"We should get going, we want as much time as possible."

 _As much time as possible to do what?_ She wants to ask, but she's tired and can't be bothered to deal with his circular answers, so instead she packs the campsite up in silence.

They don't have much food left, so they finish off Peter's jerky as they walk. He's in a good mood, so this doesn't seem to bother him, "We'll have all the food we need at the Cornucopia tonight anyway."

"You still haven't told me why we need to be there, nor how we defeat the well trained tributes guarding it."

He waves her worries away, "We'll think of something," and she remembers that as much of a mastermind as he seems to think he is, he is still an arrogant teenage boy, certain that things will happen the way he plans them. It seems a lot to gamble her life on, but she follows him anyway.

She's not sure she knows the way, except general northwards, but he seems to know where they're going so she obediently follows him. As they progress, she starts recognising features from her last few days in the arena, a tree here, a bush there, the hill Heather died on…

And far too quickly they're there.

He pulls her to the side, directs her effortlessly to a large build-up of undergrowth where they have a good view of the Cornucopia through the branches being easily seen.

"You've been here before," she states.

"How else was I to check they'd taken my bait?"

She doesn't reply. She should have known anyway.

Through the leaves she can see it is only Kurt and Ram at camp. Despite the two killing machines in front of them, she's sort of relieved, she's not sure yet how she feels about facing both Heathers after her betrayal. Kurt and Ram though… she thinks about their eagerness to get their hands on her, whether she was willing or not, and shudders. Kurt and Ram she feels less loyalty to.

She supposes that Heather and Heather could be nearby too, but she knows how the Careers operate now, and she's sure that the boys have somehow been talked into taking guard duty again. They're currently kicking a loaf of bread around in a makeshift ball game, clearly bored.

"Ok, what are our next steps?"

"Patience, darling. We need to spend some time scouting them. Work out our best approach."

The way he is looking at her is ridiculously patronising, she wants him to stop.

"So the basic idea is to find a way to kill two fully armed Careers with nothing more than one crappy dagger?"

"Yes."

"I am stunned the Gamemakers didn't recognise your tactical genius."

He tuts and continues watching. She reluctantly sits down to join him, not sure what she's supposed to be looking for. They're horny dumbasses, whose only advantage is their strength, but she knows that already. Spending a further ten minutes watching two idiots kicking bread doesn't offer her much more insight and is doing nothing for her rumbling stomach.

"If we don't hurry up the Heathers will return and then we'll have to deal with all four of them."

"That's why we came early, they'll be gone for hours."

"You worked out their weakness yet then? Apart from the obvious lack of brain cells?"

"Pride." He says immediately, never taking his eyes off them, "They've been told all their lives that they are born champions, that their fighting talents will win them the Games. They can't even imagine someone from one of the poorer districts being a threat or a challenge. All we need to do is work out how to play that to our advantage."

 _It's your weakness too,_ she thinks, _you are so sure that you're cleverer than us all – than the Gamemakers – that you can control whatever we do, that we couldn't possibly understand or outplay you._

She tucks this revelation away for the future, and looks up at him, "What is my weakness then?"

A flicker of a sinister smile plays on his features, "That would be telling."

Any further questioning (and plans to punch him in his smug face) is stopped by Kurt flopping down on the ground, "Urgh this is so boring, I can't believe we're having to stay here. Heather Duke never used to be so fucking bossy."

Ram sits beside him, nodding enthusiastically in agreement, "It's such a turn off, at least Heather McNamara shuts up when she's not being a prude."

"Don't pretend your main girlfriend isn't your right hand," mutters JD.

Veronica does her best to muffle the snort she lets out.

"This is such a waste of talent," says Ram, "I got a 10. We are way better than the girls. They got no one yesterday. Who killed that boy from 6 when we went out?"

"That was us," confirms Kurt, "that was so funny. He cried like a baby when he was punched."

"And that sound that he made when he was kicked," sniggers Ram, jerking back in imitation "uh, uh, argh!"

"They killed him slowly and painfully," says Veronica.

JD, as expected, is unmoved, "They're bullies, he was weak, what did you think would happen?"

Veronica thinks of Al's family, of his girlfriend, if they thought Al being reaped was the worst thing that ever happened to them, surely him dying like this would top it?

She thinks of Betty, if there's any afterlife, she must be crying now, watching the boy she liked suffer so. Poor Betty would not be able to understand how anyone could be so cruel, nor how Veronica can let this happen, can even participate.

But they've been in the Games so long now and the heroes are long dead, all that is left are the drones and the cowards and the psychopaths, and Veronica's a bit of each.

_At least Peter only had about a minute of terror before I killed him._

Kurt guffaws, "I can't believe he admitted he was gay to make it stop. I bet his parents were like 'oh no! Not my dead gay son who loves the taste of cock'."

Anger bubbles within her, thick and fast. It's not fair, she thinks, that these boys in front of her are enjoying this, enjoying the Games they volunteered for. Meanwhile, Al, who was forcefully pulled from the people who loved him, lies dead and bruised beside so many others who never asked for it. Kurt and Ram are unrepentant murderers, the kind that enjoy torturing their innocent victims first, they are entitled, they are rapists. Even before the Games they had nothing to offer the world. The idea that one of them might be the sole person to survive this is horrendous. They don't deserve to live, they deserve to pay for what they've done, more than the Heathers, more than Al and much more than Peter.

They need to know that their victims can fight back.

"They need to die," she states, "Any ideas?"

His eyes light up in eagerness at her words, "They're not paying much attention to the weapons pile. We might be able to sneak our way into camp and get something better to fight with, that would be a good start."

She considers, the boys really are doing a terrible job of guarding anything, so it's probably doable, even if it still leaves them with the challenge of what to do once they have the weapons. However, it's a risk, a big one. with fatal consequences if something goes wrong.

"And, if they notice before we manage to leave, you think we'll be able to overpower them Mr 5-in-training?"

For a second his face betrays annoyance, "I'm perfectly competent with a knife, as you well know."

She bristles, comparing this to him trapping her straight after Heather died isn't fair at all.

"Yeah, if your victim is weaponless and distracted…" but she trails off, because that's not actually a bad point…

Instantly she sits up, "Give me the dagger. I'll distract them, you get yourself a weapon from their pile, and then come up behind them. I'll count to three, come in on two," she says, "take Ram, I'll take Kurt."

She will show them what she's capable of.

She relishes the stunned look on his face, "What?"

"I spent three days with them," she hisses, already getting up, the desire for vengeance running through her veins seems to have numbed all her caution and fear, "trust me."

She tucks the dagger into her back pocket, splashes some water from their bottle on her face to wipe off the worst of the soot, dirt and sweat, takes her hair out of its casual ponytail and ruffles it up in an attempt to make it look attractively bedraggled. She pulls down her top so some of her cleavage is showing and puckers her lips so they look a little more prominent and slightly red.

It's very improvised and nothing on what even Martha looked like the week before for their interviews, especially with the burns and bruises on her arms, but it's not like the Heathers can look any better at this stage, and from the sound of it the boys are bored of them anyway.

She turns to him, "Do I look suitably sexy?"

There's more than a bit of bewildered amusement on his features, but nevertheless, he looks her up and down and licks his lips.

"You'd better have my back or I promise I will haunt your every waking moment." She says, as the rush from his appreciative stare gives her the confidence to go into the glade swinging her hips.

xxx

JD is probably right about Kurt and Ram's poor guarding skills as, when she greets them with a confident, "Hello boys," they both start scrabbling for their weapons.

"So I was thinking about that threesome," she continues, as if she hasn't just appeared back at camp after being missing in action for three days, "I just couldn't get it out of my head. Fancy doing it now?"

She has to resist the urge to laugh at the way they both freeze, Ram's mouth falls open, while Kurt drops the knife he's only just managed to pick up.

"Well, are you up for it?" she says, walking forward, strategically placing herself at an angle where they can't see the weapons pile if they are ogling her.

They both nod enthusiastically.

She lets them take a few steps towards her, so they are further from Kurt's knife. Before putting her hand up.

"No, wait, I want to see all your sexy muscles, and where you are standing now I have the perfect view of both of you sexy boys. Strip for me."

They seem only too pleased by this request, and the knowledge that she is destroying years of carefully thought out training and tactics with only her words and body sends an odd kind of thrill down her spine. They do it slowly, showing off, encouraged by the odd comment she throws their way. Good, the slower they go, the more time JD has to find himself a good weapon. He's looking through them now, though he too seems to be paying more attention to her than he should be, given one wrong move will lead to their instant death.

_Fucking men._

When they are stark naked and JD is knifed up, she smiles at them seductively, "Now come over here and let me tell you what I want you to do to me."

They run over, clothes and weapons forgotten, like lambs to the slaughter. She feels their breath on her face, their hands on her chest and resists the urge to shudder.

Instead, she strokes the muscles on their arms, "So, what I really want is for you guys to rip my clothes off. Is that ok?"

They nod and start to grab with eager hands, but she bats them off, "Not yet, on the count of three…"

She reaches behind her back, clasping her dagger.

"One…"

She sneaks a glance behind them, JD is in place.

"Two…"

"Three." Says JD, knife already raised.

It all happens in a flash. JD is quick, but he hasn't spent the last decade priming his reflexes. Ram turns and punches him, knocking him off his feet. But, before she has time to react, Kurt grabs her by the upper arms, pulling her roughly towards him.

So she knees him in the crotch.

He's well trained, so his gasp of pain is muted, but his hand loosens enough for her to get her right arm out of his grip and plunge the dagger into his neck.

She pulls it out, twisting it for good measure, as he falls to the ground. Blood is trickling from the dagger onto her hand but that no longer matters. Nothing matters except that JD is still scrabbling to get up and Ram is running towards the weapons pile.

If he manages to get to the spears she knows for a fact that both of them are goners.

"Get him!" She shrieks in JD's direction, but he's still unsteady on his feet, so she runs, faster than she ever has before, and leaps at Ram, shoving her blade into his back, pulling it down his skin.

It doesn't kill him, not even nearly, his muscles are thick and she leaves nothing more than a deep scratch, but it's enough to make him turn. He pushes her over, landing on top of her, the dagger spiralling out of her grip. He holds her down with one hand on her chest, so hard that she can barely breathe, and grabs a large rock with the other.

He raises his arm, rock in hand, the rippling arm muscles that she was stroking moments ago are even more obvious. Thick, strong, merciless, one blow and there is no doubt at all that she will be dead.

She closes her eyes for the impact, her mind is screaming that, even after all this, she doesn't want to die. If she sees her life flash before her it is dull and grey. She will die humiliated in front of the entire world, without having fulfilled anything, without ever having been truly happy or done anything that matters.

There is a thump of an arm but not on her head. She feels his body slump on top of her, the stench of dirt and sweat filling her nostrils.

It takes all of her courage to force open her eyes.

Blood is pouring from a slit straight across Ram's neck, the warm liquid flowing over her face and shoulders.

Above them stands JD, his knife stained red, his face is already starting to swell but it does nothing to hide the elated look in his eyes.

It takes both of them to roll Ram off her. He pulls her to her feet. She grips his wrists, panting, dripping with blood, muscles still tense until she hears the cannons, one straight after another.

They have won.

They come together like magnets. His mouth is on her neck before the hovercrafts have any time to arrive. And then he's pushing her back against the nearest tree, helping her pull off her shirt as he goes.

He is there, he is real and, at the moment, he is the only thing stabilising her to the world after what she has just done.

"What's this about a threesome?" he mutters between heated kisses.

She snorts because of course that's what he picks up on, he somehow thinks that Kurt and Ram are still his romantic rivals.

There's danger in his eyes, and she sort of loves it, the way it sprouts anger on his normally emotionless face.

"What's it to you?" she teases, "Aren't I allowed any freedom here?"

He pushes her back, hard enough for her head to bash against the tree trunk, his eyes turning to squints, "Tell me, Veronica."

"The threesome did not occur," she says finally, "Or anything with them or anyone else," she clarifies hastily, the weapons pile is still nearby and she thinks getting stabbed by her ally straight after a double homicide might be an imprudent way to die.

He grunts his approval, grabs her hair and tugs her even closer to him as she wraps her legs around his lithe form. Claiming her as only his; body, mind and soul.

Once, while sitting alone in her pitiful school library, she read that when the leader of a pride of lions is killed, the lionesses go into heat, desperate to fuck the lion who killed him.

She'd like to think she's above such urges, but there are 17 children dead and right now she's finding it hard to think of these tragedies as anything but a step towards her survival. There is blood on her hands, her face, her clothes and she feels more beast than human anyway.

His hands on her body, desperately shoving away any barrier between them, provide a welcome distraction.

She kisses him back fiercely, making sure to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

"That's a 9 and a 10 down," he hisses into her ear as he joins them, "they could have won and now, because of us, they won't."

At his words she grips him tighter and bucks against him, pushing any guilt to one side.

With the adrenalin still running through her veins, it is a heady feeling to know that they have done this deed, to feel powerful instead of powerless. He looks at her with awe, rather than superiority, and she revels in it.

Somewhere in the Capitol her supporters (and she's sure she has them now) will be cheering for her, while those who bet on Kurt and Ram will be cursing and ripping up their slips. Bookies will be hastily slashing their odds on them while Districts 1 and 4 will be wondering if the last two Careers can survive their onslaught.

The attention of a nation is on them, on her. They are the words on everyone's lips, the black horses no one expected to have a chance, now being considered as potential winners.

For a moment she feels like she can do anything.

xxx

Afterwards, they lie together, backs resting against the trunk of the tree. The thrill of their victory is still heavy in the air.

"So," she says, "how do you think they censored all that?"

He chuckles, "I wish we could see it. I'm sure you gave them quite a challenge."

Her mouth twitches into a smile, she likes the idea of the Gamemakers frantically panicking to cover up her overly explicit actions while still appeasing the Capitol's bloodlust, wondering what sort of punishment they will face if they make a mistake.

"I can't believe that all fucking worked," she says, unable to keep some smugness out of her voice, "I was sure we would be dead by now."

"You were right about them though. They were very horny and very dumb, not to shit on your acting talent, but that was the most obvious trap I've ever seen and they walked right into it without a second thought. Their deaths were pretty much idiot tax."

She thinks about the look on their faces as she appeared out of the blue offering unconditional sex and can't help laughing, "It was pretty obvious wasn't it?"

At least when she's repeatedly walked into danger to get a slight tactical advantage, she's done it with her eyes wide open.

"It's like I said, play it right and they kill themselves."

When she looks up at him she can see a black eye forming. It makes him look very sexy, a thought that should probably disturb her more than it does. She reaches out and touches it, relishing how he hisses and grips her arms tighter in pain. "I seem to remember more blood, knives and punches than you do."

"There were complications perhaps, but all in all," he says, "that was a very good plan."

She tries not to show how pleased she is by the comment, "We both very nearly died."

"Where's the fun if there isn't any risk?"

She rolls her eyes.

They watch lazily as the hovercraft picks up both bodies, she tries not to think how she roasted marshmallows with Kurt and Ram, how they were laughing at each other's stories just days before. Now they are no longer an active threat, it's harder to see them just as bullies or obstacles they had to destroy.

The high from what they have just done is rapidly fading, and suddenly she is just a killer, covered in the blood of her victims.

She gets to her feet, "I'm going down to the lake to wash."

He nods, getting up too, "When you're back I've got something to show you."

She can't put her clothes back on, not with all the blood still wet and warm. But luckily there are two relatively clean, if smelly, piles of clothes carelessly dumped at the campsite. Kurt's clothes are far too big for her, but there are hardly any red stains on them, which is good enough. So she slips them on and uses some rope as a belt. She then chooses a nice knife from the weapons pile, finds some burn lotion in a first aid kit and bundles her blood-stained clothes up. She follows the route she took to the lake in another lifetime, back when she was still with the Careers, back when they were all still alive.

When she gets there she strips, observing the cuts, bruises and burns all over her body, making her skin look like a patchwork quilt. The water at the lake is clear but deep, and she has no idea how to swim, so she sits on the side placing her legs in the cold water, watching as the brown and the red swirl off them into the lake, hissing as she feels the water seep into her cuts. She then cups her hands and rubs the water over the rest of her body. She's so dirty that the water is completely discoloured by the time it drips off her. She grabs some moss from the side of the bank, stands up, and starts scrubbing.

She spends a long time there, grabbing more and more moss, rubbing it all over herself until she is shivering and her skin is raw and stinging. When she is finally satisfied that there is no trace of blood left on her body, she screws her eyes closed in an attempt to pull herself together. When she opens them again she half expects the blood to have returned, permanently staining her with her sins, but she is clean – her hands look the same as before she used them to stab a boy through the neck. Somehow this is worse.

She applies the burn lotion, pleased when it appears to do nothing but make her skin sting more, then rinses out her clothes, which are even dirtier than she was, she'll dry them by the campfire later. As she puts Kurt's clothes back on, something falls out of the pocket, something small and metallic, when she leans over to pick it up her stomach sinks as soon as she sees the flash of pink. Her heart already knows what it is, even before her brain has realised. It's Kurt's keychain, the one his kid sister gave him. Ashley, her name is Ashely, she's probably crying, inconsolable right now. She'll go through life with the burden of knowing her brother died embarrassing himself on TV, she'll never forget this day nor who did it to him.

Should it have been harder for her, she wonders, to plunge a knife into Kurt's neck? At the time it had felt like self-defence, but that isn't a particularly good motive when she put herself in the path of danger precisely so she could kill him. Sure, Kurt and Ram thought it was funny to beat Al to death. But she quite enjoyed tricking them into their own deaths too. Is there really any difference?

 _Manipulation,_ she thinks with a shiver, _that's the difference, it's what JD practices, apparently it's what I practice too now._

She's not sure why it bothers her so much, everyone is killing to survive, but there's something unsettling about his way of murder. She knew where she stood with the Heathers, alive while useful, otherwise they'd be a knife in her back the instant they're close enough. But with JD it's all pretty words and broken promises, he takes pride in the art of murder just as much as the deed. The sadistic pleasure he gets from finding the right opportunity to kill goes further than the Careers' sense of victory, it's something he seeks, something he wants to perfect, to perform at the right moment for the optimal poetic impact. And somehow she knows this is more terrifying than facing five Careers at once.

Is that who she is turning into?

She resists the urge to scream and instead settles for roughly running her nails down her still stinging arms and throwing Kurt's token deep in the water.

She hopes the camera doesn't notice.

xxx

She can tell JD's excited the moment she arrives back at the Cornucopia. His face shows the same energy that's usually reserved for seeing the life drain out of someone's eyes.

"Come here." He calls, "look at what I've found."

He's standing near the platforms where they entered the arena, so many days ago, and has dug a shallow hole.

As she approaches he holds out his hand, in his palm is a circular metal object, about double the size and thickness of a coin.

She picks it up dubiously, it's dull and still covered in dirt, "What is it?"

"It's a mine." He says, "the very ones that could have blown us up the day we arrived."

"Oh. I wasn't expecting them to be so small," she says, ignoring the knot twisting in her stomach at the reminder of Betty.

"Small, but deadly. Get hit by one of these and boom, you're gone."

She swallows, "I know. I've seen. But how does that help us?"

"Ah, so the thing about these particular little bombs, is that they're very pressure sensitive. After a quick, easy tweak of the wiring and they will blow when you throw them."

"And you know this because?"

"My father showed me. Man loves explosives more than anything else. He steals them from the coal mines when the Peacekeepers aren't looking, plays about with them, even sells them when he is done with them and needs more alcohol." He grins suddenly for a reason she can't quite figure out, then continues examining the object with the kind of awe he usually reserves for sharp pointy things, "they're neat little bombs, good for down in the mines, because the other trait they have is they trigger other explosives nearby to blow too, even much, much bigger ones. Gamemakers must be careful with the spacing of them here, because you don't even need to be that close, but underground it's very useful, leave a bunch of explosives at the end of a cave and then throw one of these in to set them all off. BOOM!"

If he's telling the truth, they're easily going to have the most powerful weapon in the Games, "And you'll be able to dig them all up?"

"Not all will work," he says, "some obviously are already blown and not all of the mines have the defect that lets them be altered so they'll explode when thrown, but it's common enough that they'll be some we can use."

Between the two of them, they make quick work of digging the mines up and in a little over two hours they are done.

By now she is well and truly famished, so she puts on a fire and raids the food pile, while JD fiddles with the explosives. Most of the meat is well past when it should have been eaten, but the bacon seems well enough cured to use, and there are plenty of potatoes, mushrooms and vegetables. She boils them together in an attempt at soup. It's not the best thing she's ever cooked and the bread she dunks in is stale, but to her empty stomach, it tastes amazing.

He's still sitting on his own by the mines so she takes his serving over.

"How many did you manage to fix?" she asks.

"Three." He says, "seems like they give 12 more of the ones with defects, not sure why I'm surprised. Still, three is enough for what we need."

She watches the way his fingers caress the metal, more softly than he's ever touched her, she knows he's desperate to start throwing them already.

"Good. So what are our next steps?"

"We wait. You've already set a fire so hopefully, that'll get the girls' attention. If not, well they'll return to camp sometime soon, especially after they realise Kurt and Ram are dead."

She nods and distracts herself from any thoughts of her days with the Heathers by sorting out the food pile. The Careers have managed to ruin any kind of order she set up during her time there, but under the mess is still more than enough unspoilt food to last them until the end of the Games.

Not that both, or likely either, of them will make it.

There's a sound from the trees nearby, a twig snapping, the crackle of leaves, and her hands instinctively go for her knife. But the noise stops suddenly, too suddenly for it to be natural.

Whoever is there is hiding rather than going straight for the attack. She squats down, pretending she's dismissed the noise but lets her hair fall in front of her face so she can scan the undergrowth unnoticed.

It takes a moment or two but then she sees it, a hand pushing the leaves away in a bush

"JD," she says quietly, holding up a bag of corn nuts as if she's showing it to him, but motions with her head and eyes. He picks up her silent message immediately, gaze rapidly focusing on what she's seen.

His reaction is instantaneous. He gets a mine out of his pocket and throws it towards the tribute.

There's an impressive boom and for a second the late afternoon light gives way to a blinding flash. Then there's a second boom. This time one of a cannon.

It's all over before she can decide whether this was what she wanted to happen.

If nothing else it's proved that it's an easy, efficient way to kill.

JD looks almost disappointed at how quick it all was.

The hovercraft has to pick up several pieces of the body. It's only when it picks up his torso and head that she gets a good view of who they've killed. It's the male tribute from District 9.

"Oh," she says, "he was Al's friend, the one who liked talking about ludicrous battle techniques."

"Keith Harrington," he says, with no particular interest, "He got a 6 in training, so he wasn't useless, but it's a bummer it wasn't one of the Heathers."

She doesn't bother commenting on his blasé reaction to the innocent child he just murdered, but she hopes he can see it on her face.

 _At least it was fast. Maybe I could bear it if I went that quickly._ She didn't know Keith, she'd never spared him more than a passing thought. This makes more of a difference to her twisting conscious than it should.

"The Heathers must have heard though, they'll know where we are."

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

As if on cue, there's a rustle in the bushes, and a female cry, barely distinguishable from a wounded animal.

Quick as a flash JD's hand is in his pocket again and he throws the explosive in her direction, but the girl is anticipating it, runs suddenly sideways outside of the mine's path and disappears into the greenery. Veronica only catches the flick of a dark brown ponytail before she is gone.

_Not a Heather then._

"Damn it." Says JD, but he doesn't bother pursuing her, perhaps he's realised how rashly he's used the penultimate mine on failing to kill someone who isn't even a Heather.

"That must have been his district partner, the girl from 9." Says Veronica, realising she's the only other female tribute left, "I guess they were working together, spying on the Careers. Maybe they were stealing food when they weren't looking," It was a smart plan. By being under the Careers' noses they could probably overhear their search plans and make sure they wouldn't end up in their path. They've probably been watching all day. She thinks about what she can recall about the girl. She remembers the girl shooting a jealous look at her dress at the interview after the Heathers were pointing and laughing at the girl's subpar dress… Courtney. That was her name. _Is_ her name. She's still alive and has seen all their sins.

Despite all the cameras it's hard not to think of her as the sole witness to their crimes.

xxx

The Heathers still haven't returned as evening falls, so she bakes potatoes on the fire, like she did for the Careers the first night she was here, and sits beside JD, who is playing with the remaining explosive.

"Please don't drop that," she says, "I've put far too much effort into the Games to die so ungraciously."

He smirks, "Don't worry, so have I." but puts it back in his pocket.

"Also, considering we've only got one mine left let's be careful with it."

"We'll be fine. We just need to get the Heathers together and then BOOM! Gone."

"There's still Brad."

"You grew up with Brad, I'm sure you'll be able to suss out how best to kill him."

The faith he has in her is almost flattering, but it brings up something that's been bugging her ever since he showed her the mines, "I'm surprised you want to kill the last two Careers like that anyway. I mean I get that your ego swells at the cunning of using something not designed as a weapon but big explosions, no words or mind games, don't seem much your thing."

He grins, the same self-satisfied one he had on earlier when he was telling her about how District 12 used the mines, "You'd think that wouldn't you? But it all depends on who your targets are, darling, and who's watching. Sometimes explosions are necessary to make what you want happen." He doesn't specify any further because he is talking loud enough for the mics to hear his every word, but she understands. Somewhere, the father that Jason Dean loathes is being tortured, maybe even killed, because his son deliberately revealed he was stealing explosives on live TV.

She looks at him for a long time. Feels that, despite how much he's told her, she still knows no more about him than the day she approached him in the Training Centre.

The boy who talks of revolution – of overthrowing the powerful, but whose eyes gleam no matter who he kills.

xxx

There are three faces in the sky tonight. Ram, then Kurt, then Keith. The most since the bloodbath. All their kills.

"Six left," she comments, resisting the urge to shove her hand into the fire again, "they'll be well into interviewing family and friends now."

He snorts, "For those who have any left."

She ignores him and stares into the distance. She hasn't really thought about her family in a while now – her mom, her dad, her friends must be watching her every move from a world not covered by a forcefield.

What are they thinking? Do they find her unrecognisable? Or have they always seen it in her underneath, a girl happy to do all of this for the mere reward of living? Was this always the expectation when she was reaped or did they think she'd be gone by now? Would they have preferred it that way?

Would she have preferred it that way too?

xxx

As the evening turns to night it becomes increasingly clear that the Heathers aren't coming back tonight. And sure enough, when she checks the supply pile, the tent is nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe they're searching the desert, they haven't been there yet, would be easy for tributes to hide there, and I'm sure it's over a day's walk away."

"More likely they're searching the mountains for you. They know you went south with Heather, they must have worked out it was most likely you headed for a cave. "

Her heart sinks at the thought, "Yeah, yeah, you're probably right."

"In any case, now they know Kurt and Ram are dead they may have a better idea of where you are, we'll get them tomorrow."

They decide to sleep in shifts just in case they're back earlier than they think.

They have plenty of sleeping bags so they are not cold, but still her sleep is restless, as her dreams are filled with horrors: a boy's body struck by lightning, a blonde girl choking on poison, boys stumbling naked through a forest and so many people being blown to pieces.

Betty stands beside her, tears streaming down her face as she attempts not to look at the sights before her, she glares at Veronica accusingly.

"Ronnie! How could you?" She cries, but her voice is weak and soon her image fades away. In her place stands JD, he grins at her, giant knife in hand, blood pouring from his mouth.

"Who's next?" He mutters in her ear as he grabs her arm, pulling her towards the chaos...

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 7**

**District 1  
**Heather McNamara  
~~Ram Sweeny~~

 **District 2  
** ~~Heather Chandler~~  
~~David Remington~~

 **District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~  
~~Peter Dawson~~

 **District 4  
**Heather Duke  
~~Kurt Kelly~~

 **District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~  
~~Rodney Bulb~~

 **District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~  
~~Al Springer~~

 **District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~  
~~Bobby Young~~

 **District 8  
**Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9  
**Courtney Chadwick  
~~Keith Harrington~~

 **District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~  
~~Dennis Grundy~~

 **District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~  
~~Dwight Archer~~

 **District 12  
**~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 3  
**Survivors:** 6


	13. Arena Day 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the Covid inspired lines in this chapter.
> 
> Bingo: 1 new 2 repeats.
> 
> ~~Enjoy the Jdonica while it lasts.~~

"Veronica, get up."

Veronica opens her eyes a smidgen and recognises the unmistakable glow of the dawn.

"Urgh, JD, I know you're not big on social norms, but it's not acceptable to wake people up this early." She turns away from him and buries her head back in her sleeping bag.

It's funny how quickly this has all become normal; waking up beside her future murderer, plotting who next to kill, listening out lest someone try to kill them first and knowing all of Panem is just waiting to judge her next move. How many days has she been in the arena? A week? More? It feels both unnatural but also as if it's always been this way.

"No, you need to see this," he insists, helping her sit up and pointing to the mountains in the distance, "let's hope the Heathers were searching for you."

"I love it when two trained killers are searching for me," she mutters, but looks at where he's indicating.

It takes her a while to work out what he's talking about, but eventually she notices it. The mountains are shaking, "An earthquake."

"Looks like it, and all the landslides that go with it."

She waits for the pang of pity for the Heathers but it doesn't come.

"Thank fuck we moved then."

They watch for a while longer until the shaking seems to stop, but they hear no cannons, so either the Heathers were never there or they survived. It's disturbing how disappointed she is by this.

xxx

They take the day lazily, they're where they need to be. At some point the Heathers will likely turn up, and they'll have to get them close enough together to off them with one mine, all the while avoiding any knives, arrows and spears that come in their direction, but for now they have nothing to do but keep a lookout.

Her clothes are dry now, so she gratefully changes out of Kurt's baggy ones and sets up a fire. After a hearty serving of bacon and eggs, he finds a pack of flour on the still enormous Career food pile and mixes it up with water and oil to form a makeshift dough. They wrap it around sticks and roast it until it's brown, before eating it with butter and jam. The bread itself is not that nice, but it's fun to watch it cook while listening to the crackle of the twigs and leaves that they idly toss into the flames.

She's discovered recently how much she likes playing with fire.

He moves closer to her, and she finds herself snuggling against him, relishing the warmth of his body. It's hard to care how immoral this is when she's going to hell anyway.

"Your eye looks awful today," she says, taking in his face. The whole area around it is now black, blue, red and puffy. It sort of makes him look like a badass, but she keeps that to herself.

He gets out his knife and inspects his reflection on the blade, "Eh, I've had worse. I can see, I can fight, that's the main thing."

"Do you think the earthquake will set the Heathers back much?"

"It could have," he says, "but just as likely it won't have at all, we know they're not dead, who knows, they might not have even been in the earthquake."

"Knowing the Gamemakers that seems unlikely."

"Granted. But I think we still need to act as if they're unharmed. I've seen tributes get out of much worse."

She nods.

"Where do you think Brad is?" he asks.

Something has shifted between them since they killed Kurt and Ram. He's starting to trust her, she realises, not in a way where he thinks that she won't kill him given the right situation, nor in a way that has stopped him looking at her like he's a cat that's caught a particularly juicy mouse, but his glances are less patronising, he listens to her now (even if he ignores what he doesn't like). She's impressed him, he values her in a way that has surprised him and it makes her sort of proud.

She considers his question, "I last saw him the second day in the arena. I was north the first couple of days, so he's probably somewhere around there. I think he's been lying low since he made the genius move of turning all the Careers against him." She briefly considers if he went further north to hide in the desert, but then she remembers the carefully crafted net he used to capture the Heathers. "He'll be by a river. Living off catching fish and whatever sponsor gifts Pauline is pouring in his direction."

"That seems likely. In that case, Courtney's probably closer at the moment. She'd be worth hunting down first."

She agrees, but as she does she thinks, with a mild wave of nausea, that this is all hypothetical because, once both Heathers are dead, there's _only_ Courtney and Brad left. Which means she, under no circumstances, wants to be around him when they are killed, because she knows exactly who his next target will be.

As soon as the Heathers are dead she needs to run. Or, even better, place a knife straight into his back.

And, whatever questions she still has about JD, she is certain that he is hyperaware of all these facts too, and has a much better plan of getting her out of the way when the time is right.

And yet, here she is, smiling and cuddling him while the fire roars. She takes her bread from the flames, shoving it in her mouth even though it's still doughy inside. The resulting burn on her tongue feels like a fitting punishment and she pushes herself to her feet to get away from him.

"We should put what we can in bags just in case we have to make a quick run for it." She says, in way of explanation.

He agrees. They find the biggest backpacks in the pile and put in each a sleeping bag, a blanket, a bottle of water, a spare knife, a box of matches and a first aid kit. Then they stuff all the remaining space with food that will keep through travel and keep their energy up.

xxx

The Heathers do not appear in any decent time. As the day wears on she feels a bit more sympathy for Kurt and Ram with their phallic image carving and bread based ball games. She thinks about fucking JD to pass the time, but she already knows what it looks like to be attacked unprepared and naked and it would be humiliating to be remembered going out the same way that she killed Kurt and Ram. God, who knew fighting for your life while the whole world watches could be so boring?

He's sitting by the weapons pile, admiring the collection of shiny blades, spears and arrows, with the same sort of excited awe as her dad has when he's found a well written spy novel.

She goes over to him, "Looking for a new toy?"

She tries to pick up the biggest sword but can barely get it off the ground.

He chuckles, "They make those weapons just so the Careers can show off, they're pretty but inefficient." He picks up the arrows, "even these are for showing off too."

"I have seen some very impressive wins in previous Games with arrows."

"Oh sure, if you have trained in it for years, and know exactly the right places to hit. Otherwise, even if you don't miss, you'll likely not hit somewhere that causes enough blood loss and you'll nick them rather than killing them."

Veronica thinks about her own pitiful attempt with a bow at the Training Centre, she hadn't even managed to hit a target, nevermind cause a wound.

"No, my dear," he continues, "knives are our best weapon. Hit a main vein and you'll be dead in minutes. As you know, the throat is very effective, but you can aim above the eyes too, or at the back of the knee, or even the hollow of the elbow. And, of course, the right cut to your stomach and you might not die straight away, but you won't be able to control your muscles to move your legs anymore…" She tries to memorise what he says as he continues. The words are sickening but undeniably valuable to the task at hand. He speaks reverently, with much more enthusiasm and detail than her trainer back and the centre did.

_How do you know all this? Did an over-keen trainer answer all your questions, did the mother who you claim was a freedom fighter train you well or is it something more?_

She probably should be running about now, but honestly, she has known what he was from the moment Heather died, and for now (most of) her blood remains inside her body and she is more curious than afraid.

"You speak like you've tried this before."

_Are there a series of mutilated bodies buried in District 12 whose deaths you've managed to pass off as accidents?_

"The Careers kill to prepare for the Games. You know that don't you? They have these luxurious academies where they train their young hopefuls to compete. They send their criminals there as murder practice. They'll have killed dozens. They've lost any compassion for their victims long before they enter the arena."

His statement is disturbing but unsurprising, what is more concerning is what he hasn't said, "Don't bullshit me! You know that didn't answer my quest…"

But at that moment his demeanor changes, he clutches her arm suddenly, "Hush," he says, "I think I hear someone."

She obeys instantly. Getting to her feet and grabbing her knife. He's right, there are footsteps, getting louder and louder, faster and faster. Causing even more commotion than when the Heathers were chasing down Martha…

She sees him tense, he runs over to their bags and chucks one at her. She catches it, confused.

"That's not the Heathers." He says sharply, "We need to go."

She opens her mouth but the question dies on her lips when she hears a roar loud enough to make her ears ring.

It's a lion. Or she thinks it is. She's never seen a lion in real life before, but she's sure they're supposed to be smaller and slower than the beast that thunders towards them now.

All talk of advantage is gone. They manage, thank God, to swing their bags onto their backs and then she runs, tumbling through the forest blindly following his lead.

They run and run, with no sense of direction except _the fuck_ _away,_ they force their way through branches and bracken as the woodland gets thicker and thicker, it's hard work for them, but it's harder for the lion who is having to find gaps to push through. The trampling footsteps fall further behind them.

She is just foolishly thinking that maybe human stamina might just beat a muttation, when she sees him coming to a sudden halt straight ahead. She rushes to where he is, confused, before seeing the problem. Water, normally something she's very thankful for here, is rushing in front of them, dark, fast and deep.

"Can you swim?" he asks gruffly.

She looks at the swirling water, pounding against the rocks, splashing them with droplets even as they stand several metres away, she thinks she might give him the same answer even if she could, "Before the arena, I'd never seen more water than in a bathtub."

"Me neither." He says, as they are left with no choice but to turn to face the snarling beast charging towards them.

He raises his knife, ready to run forward, and she looks at him as if he is mad.

"The mine. Use the fucking mine."

He hesitates, and she spends valuable seconds turning to face him, "Do you have it?"

He nods once, his eyes judging the rapidly shrinking distance between them and the thing.

"Then fucking throw it. I don't care if you wanted to use it on the Heathers. We can't kill them if we're dead."

He waits for just a second longer before relenting, dropping his knife, reaching into his pocket and hurling the mine towards the beast. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her away from the explosion and into some reeds beside the river. He's not quite fast enough, they are pushed back by the force of the fire and have to grab large handfuls of the reeds so they don't both fall into the bubbling water.

But then it's over and, grabbing his shoulder, she stumbles back onto her feet, giving him a hand to help him up. She assesses the damage, some stinging burns from the explosive which she's sure will blister, her hands have friction burns from the reeds and her arms and legs have a hell of a lot of scratches and cuts, but all in all, it's a whole lot better than being gored to death.

The muttation is in pieces around them, very, very dead. Thank God.

And with that, all their explosive weapons are gone. It feels rather anticlimactic. She wonders if it was a deliberate move on the Capitol's part, they can't have been pleased with the way he was playing with something so powerful that they hadn't intended to be used as a weapon.

They're both reluctant to go back in the direction of the beast. So, after they've put a little lotion from their first aid kits on their burns, they make their way upstream instead.

They've only been walking about fifteen minutes when they hear more footsteps. They both dive immediately into the nearest bush. She hastily pushes the branches to the side to see what they are facing, she might have to take her chances with a watery death if there's another lion on the prowl. But it's not. It's Courtney, who has apparently not yet seen them.

She feels him shift beside her, his hand already reaching for his knife, "We should get her now, while we still have the element of surprise."

Veronica stills him, observing the girl, she is not running but she is walking cautiously downstream, slightly twitchy, her eyes wide. Something has spooked her. There's no way otherwise she'd be heading towards the commotion they must have made when they killed the lion.

"No," she says.

"There's two of us, we can overpower her, it'll be fine."

But she's not paying attention, she's looking into the distance where she sees the undergrowth rustle unnaturally.

"Get down," she hisses.

He ignores her.

"Now, you idiot," And, before she can rationalise why, she drops her knife and grabs him, using all her weight to restrain him.

She's not a moment too soon. Heading towards them are the two remaining Careers.

"Well you were right, the explosion did attract the Heathers." She mutters to him, in spite of herself.

"And if we'd waited we could have used it to kill all three tributes right now," he hisses back.

The Heathers are so much more dishevelled than the last time she saw them that they are hard to recognise. Both are heavily bruised, covered with grazes and cuts, some nasty gashes which must be painful with the distances they have walked. Heather McNamara seems to be sporting a limp. Veronica has no doubt they were in the centre of the earthquake and spent the morning after they discovered their only allies were dead fighting for their own lives.

The enthusiasm they had for the hunt seems to have been replaced, in Heather McNamara, by a frightened look, like a child who just wants to go back home, but for Heather Duke it's something different. She looks wild and so much fiercer than she ever did before, even when she was going in for the kill. It takes Veronica a second to recognise it but then she realises, it's the same deranged look she had in her eyes for a moment when Heather Chandler insulted her after they'd killed David. Back then Heather had pushed it away, but after a week of having her advantages slowly whittled down, having to finally fight if she wanted to live, letting it take over is the only thing she can do to survive.

Courtney starts and tries to run, but Veronica already knows that it's too late, Heather Duke pounces on the girl, pushing her to the ground, knee on her back so she is struggling to breathe.

"Heather, get the rope out of my bag. I want you to tie her up."

"It's not in my bag, it's in yo…"

"Shut up Heather. I know you're dumb but this isn't math."

Heather McNamara pulls the rope out from Heather Duke's bag and starts winding it around Courtney's legs, but the girl is struggling and the rope keeps slipping off.

"Oh for fuck sake Heather, can't you do anything right?" Heather Duke grabs the rope and Courtney's arms and legs are bound at a speed that would only be possible if the knots were done by someone from 4.

Heather Duke drags the girl to a tree trunk and drops her against it, then stands over her.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Heather shakes her hair out and then reaches to tie it back. Veronica recognises Heather Chandler's red scrunchie, she must have found it where it fell on the hill. Somehow it looks much more menacing in Heather Duke's hair. "We are away one night and suddenly our guards are dead and you're nearby with a remarkably full backpack. Did you kill them? Did you take supplies that weren't meant to be yours, you little bitch?"

If Courtney's cries yesterday were hard to distinguish from a wounded animal, there is no difference now.

"No, no, it wasn't me. I promise! It was the girl from 8 and the boy from 12, they killed the guys on guard and then spent the day at the campsite going through your stuff."

"The boy from 12? The creepy, skinny one who kept staring at everyone?" Courtney nods. "God, Veronica has no taste."

_Can't disagree with you there Heather._

"I don't think I believe you," says Heather, getting out her knife and gently tracing the outline of the girl's face, ignoring her whimpers, "Veronica can barely handle a knife, she's no match for Kurt and Ram."

"I'm telling the truth, I promise," says Courtney quickly, as if she thinks somehow she can talk her way into surviving, "She pretended to seduce them and then when they were naked she and the boy killed them."

_Little tattle tale. I knew we should have hunted that sneak down yesterday._

For a second Heather Duke's features almost look like she's hurt, but a moment later Veronica is sure she imagined it, for there is nothing but maliciousness in Heather's expression. If Courtney had hoped Heather would show her mercy after this confession she is out of luck. If anything, the words only make her angrier.

"I knew it. That little slut. After everything we did for her, we could have turned her into mincemeat the day we met her, but no, we fed and protected her even though she was useless, and this is how she repays us? She won't be thinking she's outsmarted us when we're cutting her into ribbons."

She punctures every few words by thrusting her knife into Courtney, all fear of blood apparently gone along with her sanity. She's enjoying the girl's terror. Courtney's unrelenting screams vibrate against Veronica's eardrums. As Heather continues to rant about her, any resentment she feels for the girl immediately turns to horror. Horror and guilt; it's hard not to feel like it's all her fault, nor are Heather's plans for revenge particularly comforting.

It's not like the other murders she's seen the Careers commit, where they were so eager to strike the killing blow that they made quite a mess of their prey. This is much worse, it's slow, it's torturous and Heather's clearly enjoying it, or at least is too hysterical to realise she's not.

Heather McNamara lingers at the back, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else, any joy she had for killing has clearly long since faded.

Veronica and JD squat in the bushes, legs aching from the awkward position, barely daring to breathe. She just looks straight forward as she sees a girl get slowly tortured to death. There's no question of attacking, not when Heather is feral like this. Their only chance is to not be discovered.

She finds his hand in the undergrowth and clasps it tightly, desperate to feel the comfort of some, any, human contact. He doesn't pull away, instead, he finds the knife she dropped when restraining him and slips it into her other hand. In case she needs it. At this moment they're the only two people left in the world, fighting the monsters that surround them.

It feels like forever until the screaming dies and then several more minutes until the cannon booms. Heather kicks Courtney's body a few more times for good measure before she's finally satisfied and she turns suddenly back in the direction of the Cornucopia. Heather McNamara hobbling behind her, struggling to keep up.

Finally, the footsteps fade away and she collapses against him in relief. They stay there for a couple of minutes, watching the hovercraft pick up the battered body still dripping with blood. Eventually, she pulls herself away.

"We should go. Like, whichever way Heather didn't go."

He nods and follows her as she, as quietly as possible, heads upstream until it is shallow enough for them to fill their bottles and wade through to the other side of the river. The sun is hanging low in the sky and there's a hill not too far off, so they decide to set up camp there to have a vantage point if they have any night time attackers.

When they get there they don't want to risk a fire. The evening air is chilly but not cold so they sit together, under both the blankets, and eat some of the canned supplies they took from the Cornucopia.

When she's finished, she gazes down over the arena thoughtfully, looking at the Cornucopia glistening in the sinking sun.

"She was never like that, Heather Duke, not when I was with the Heathers. She was pretty nice really, the nicest of all of them."

He shrugs, indifferent, "She's lost most of her allies, maybe it's finally seeped into her brain that this isn't very fun anymore."

"Yeah, I guess," she says, slightly mournfully, "maybe turning into this is the only way she thinks she can escape this place."

"You don't escape anything, Veronica," he says in that annoying tone he has when he acts like he didn't grow up being fed exactly the same propaganda that she was, "you may have fewer cameras on you, but they know you now. You're always in their grip, brought back to mentor every year, pulled into every party and awful event they want to show you off at, your children's reapings rigged so they can get some tearful interview from you when they die onscreen, they even whore you out if someone pays Gowan enough."

 _Is this true?_ She wonders, after all that she's endured the last few days, for her entire life really, she wouldn't put it past the Capitol. On the other hand, JD is bullshit personified and could be making the whole thing up to enrage her.

Veronica refuses to let him get to her. Instead she snorts, leaning against him, "No one in the Capitol is going to want to fuck you, babe."

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" he asks, amused, putting his arm around her shoulders, hand drifting towards her breast, fingers gently circling a nipple, grinning as she lets out a soft moan. She can feel the smugness radiating off him.

She smiles lazily up at him, "No, it's a statement of fact." The people of the Capitol might be indulgent and bloodthirsty but they're not that stupid. No one on the planet can be that stupid. She can't imagine they relish the thought of a knife in the neck in the name of anarchy the moment they fall asleep, no matter how hot he is.

The Anthem pulls her away from her thoughts and she swats him off her as she looks to the sky. Courtney's face is the only one tonight, her picture shows her at her finest (if not in the nicest dress), she smiles at them, clearly nervous about what is to come, but also overwhelmed by the Capitol's luxury, at how gorgeous the makeup artists have made her. It's a stark contrast from the screaming girl she saw meet her end earlier today.

The image fades and the sky goes back to the dusky orange shade of nightfall but Courtney's smiling face stays in her mind. It seems grotesque to know that, while she was watching the most awful death she could ever imagine, there were tens of thousands more people enjoying it. There's no question, every second of Courtney's death will be replayed in the highlights, probably interspersed with Veronica's own, terrified reaction. Maybe tomorrow they'll be enjoying a similar scene with her as the victim.

So many of them are dead now. She thinks. Not just in these Games but in the 88 that came before them, thousands of dead children, tens of thousands of grieving family members and friends, all this suffering, all this pain for a crime their ancestors committed.

And then there are the victors, if Heather Duke wins (and despite what she and JD have done this still seems like the most likely outcome) she is not the girl she used to be either, she is only a cruel shell of what she was before, pretending she is still alive as if she hadn't died with the rest of them.

And what if she wins? Facing District 8 and everything she has done feels like another Games in itself. When she was reaped her greatest wish was to return, to go home and for everything to be back to normal. But that can't happen. It's far, far too late. She feels more of a kinship with the corpses buried beside the arena than she ever could with someone in her district.

And then next year they'll be another Games, more Courtneys and Bettys and Marthas and Peters and Heathers and Kurts and Rams becoming nothing more than gravestones by an arena.

She turns to her companion sitting idly beside her, "Do you think there's an afterlife?"

"Probably not," he replies, "that's why we need to do all the burning of sinners here on Earth."

She rolls her eyes, wondering why she expected anything more of him, and turns her gaze back to the dusk.

"I think there are Gods though," he says, after a while. "Not that bullshit like a big wise omnipotent being in the sky who creates and controls everything." He clarifies, after her eyes widen in surprise, "but the Gods are the ones who control our fate, the Capitol are our Gods and, when we choose to end their lives, we are their Gods," he says, gesturing at the arena below where their victims were slain.

"The others could still kill us though. We're not safe from the Heathers or Brad."

"Gods are not infallible, just powerful. Chessmasters, who watch their minions attempt to guess their next move. Humans make their own Gods."

She can't remember the last time she had a proper philosophical discussion. It reminds her of when they first spoke and he declared her his only competition, sometimes it's a relief to find someone who is your intellectual equal. His statement would almost be profound if it wasn't coming from the mouth of a psychopath.

She sees his point though, in the fading sunset the arena is genuinely beautiful, it's supposed to be – it was carefully created by intelligent design, not only to house every horror the Gamemakers could think of, but to stun audiences with the most stunning and elaborate of settings. In the world they have found themselves in now – hell in the districts in which they've lived all their lives – were they ever more than pawns in the plan of the Gods who ruled them all?

What has she ever really had that is in her control?

She kisses him, not roughly. He seems surprised, an emotion she was genuinely not sure he had (she feels a rush of power at having caught him off guard), but he recovers quickly and pulls her closer – his hands automatically reaching to dispose of her shirt. She immediately slips her hands underneath his pants and they slip into their natural rhythm – if a slower one than usual.

The Capitol won't be showing this. They'll have cut before the discussion of Gods and JD's impression of their control. So, away from the public's eye, (despite the fact some of the Gamemakers are inevitably watching), the moment feels almost private. For once it's just them, two young Gods, vicious, ruthless, unrepentant, fighting against a greater power that has already decided their fate.

She wonders, incredibly fleetingly, what it must be like to live under fair Gods, ones who use their power for good.

Tomorrow will come and she'll hate him again as he smirks and plots and plans, they will pursue their reluctant alliance for however long it will still last (it can't be long now, there aren't many of them left). The public will watch, make bets on exactly how he will end her life, and the world will have slipped back to normal.

 _Give me tonight,_ she prays to the only Gods she knows, though she makes sure they cannot hear her for they are anything but kind. _Give me one night where I don't hate myself, where I forget who he is and what is to become of us both. Give me one night where I can pretend I can still be the girl I was before this._

When they are done he cups her face, and kisses her once, gently, "It won't be painful," he says softly, "when you die, it'll be so quick you barely notice."

It's really the closest to a declaration of love she'll ever get from him.

She returns it by biting back her automatic response of exactly how painfully she's planning to kill him. He seems to understand.

Sometime during the night, it occurs to her that now, with only them and three other tributes left and the two most dangerous injured, it would be the best time to slit his throat while he sleeps, before he kills her.

She snuggles closer to his warmth and lets herself drift off.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 8**

**District 1  
**Heather McNamara  
~~Ram Sweeny~~

**District 2** ~~**  
** Heather Chandler~~  
~~David Remington~~

**District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~  
~~Peter Dawson~~

 **District 4  
**Heather Duke  
~~Kurt Kelly~~

 **District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~  
~~Rodney Bulb~~

 **District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~  
~~Al Springer~~

 **District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~  
~~Bobby Young~~

 **District 8  
**Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

 **District 9  
** ~~Courtney Chadwick~~  
~~Keith Harrington~~

 **District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~  
~~Dennis Grundy~~

 **District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~  
~~Dwight Archer~~

 **District 12  
**~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 1  
**Survivors:** 5


	14. Arena Day 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday! NGL there have been cheerier chapters in this nihilistic death romp.
> 
> Bingo: 2 new, 2 repeats

The Gods are kind that night. She wakes up having had what was almost a decent rest, but the morning has come and the space next to her is cold. Their night is clearly over.

In the cold light of day, his declaration that they have power over the other tributes and the promise of a quick death seem a lot less romantic. Last night feels like a teenaged delusion, an attempt to grasp hold of a girl who has long since slipped away. His plan remains the same as it has always been. He will get whatever he wants from her, and then dispose of her when he's finished. Nothing she has done has changed that.

There will be no more truces, no more missed opportunities or promises of mercy. The sun has risen and there are only five of them left now, and, despite the Heathers' and Brad's superior strength, he is clearly her most deadly opponent. She needs to get rid of him before he has a chance to do the same to her.

It was easier, she thinks, back when she was just another tribute. Just the girl from a poor district, too unimportant to even remember her name, never mind to bother hunting down.

 _It was not easier,_ she reminds herself, _you were alone, hungry and weaponless, you did all this so you could survive._

And survive she did, _Or at least someone who resembles me in appearance_ , she thinks with a burst of hatred for her overlords, strong enough that it takes even her aback, _I have become this mess because of them_.

He's sitting on a rock, a little way off eating a packet of nuts for breakfast. He offers her some as she sits beside him, but she refuses, choosing to get something out of her own bag instead, checking as she does that nothing, especially her water, looks tampered with.

He raises his eyebrows, but neither of them mention it further. That would require good communication and their relationship has not yet reached that level of intimacy.

"Are we still aiming for the Heathers?" she asks, more as something to say than a serious discussion of what may happen today.

"I think we have to. They're clearly hunting us, so we're going to run into them anyway, we may as well fight them when we choose to and they're still injured. It might give us a tactical advantage if we take them by surprise."

"Even injured they're a lot better trained than us, and it looks like any advantage we might have had with Heather's fear of blood is long gone."

He nods, "It's worth bearing in mind as a last resort though. Otherwise, they do have injuries that we can take advantage of. Heather Duke has a gash on her left forearm and her forehead, she also seemed to have a scratch on her right hip and both of her knees are grazed. Heather McNamara obviously has a limp, which seems to be caused by a mild sprain in the right ankle, there's a bad graze all down that leg and the right arm too and scratches on her face. I think she had a nasty fall – so I'd say she'd be bruised all that side, I bet hitting her there would be painful enough to make her lose focus."

He lists the injuries off as if he's looking at a photo of the girls, _was that what he was studying when I was trying to drown out Courtney's screams?_ She tries to commit what he says to memory nonetheless, it could be useful.

She wonders what he can casually list off about her.

A beeping noise pulls her from her thoughts and she looks up to locate the parachute.

"You get it, it won't be mine. My mentor, Haymitch, hates me more than the Capitol and he hates the Capitol more than sobriety."

"Sensible man," she says, with half a grin, separating the flask from the parachute, and opening it curiously. She's not sure what Cecelia thinks she needs. Whatever she's been sent doesn't look like a weapon, but she doesn't need anything much supplies wise at the moment, their trip to the Cornucopia has left them pretty well stocked.

"Water?" She says confused, as she inspects a few drops she's poured into her hand "but we still have some left? We don't need…"

But JD's already on his feet and is looking down over the arena, "Fuck. Yes, we do."

She looks at where he is pointing. The river, so vicious and deep when they were running yesterday, is now nothing but a muddy ditch. She squints over to where the Cornucopia glistens in the morning light, "I think the lake near the Cornucopia has gone too."

"They're drawing us together." He says, "If we only have one water source we can't be too far apart."

_And it makes running away from you that much harder, if we're both heading in the same direction._

She nods, trying to recall where else she's seen water in the arena, she was sure there was a big pool out west, but when she checks she sees nothing but a dirt valley.

"There are some rivers north," he says, "Martha and I stopped there on our second day."

If there is, it's too far away for her to see. Still, there's no sign of anything in any other direction either, "Let's go there then. If we're wrong I'm sure the Gamemakers will make sure we know."

He agrees. What other plan do they have?

xxx

They drink as little as they can get away with before setting off down the hill, any idea (hypothetical or not) to actively hunt the Heathers gone with this new Gamemakers' twist, but their knives are drawn in case of a sudden ambush.

They continue that way for a long time, she's reminded of her days hunting with the Heathers and the hours of searching for something, with no idea whether they're going in the right direction.

"How far away was this water?"

"I don't know, maybe a little over a day's walk."

She tries not to show her frustration, "Of course, we've always got the fun risk that we _are_ going in the wrong direction and we die when the Gamemakers decide to send us one of their not too subtle signs."

He looks at her with an arrogance that would be unbelievable in anyone but a 17-year-old boy. "They're not going to kill us, there's been far too much money put on which of us will kill the other."

She smiles grimly and doesn't continue the conversation.

The temperature in the arena is hotter than it has ever been, forcing them to use even more of their precious water supply as they hike through the bumpy terrain. She's never been more thankful to Cecelia and her sponsors, she thinks, as they take a break from their hike early in the afternoon to pour a few rationed gulps down her throat.

It's then that she hears a noise.

"Listen," she says, grabbing JD's arm, "do you hear that?"

It takes her a few more moments to place where she's heard the sound before, but then she recalls it. It's the quiet sobbing she heard one night when she was with the Careers.

JD is already heading towards the source, so she follows him more cautiously, aware that Heather Duke is more than capable of springing a trap.

The first thing they see of Heather McNamara is her bright blonde hair, tangled and splayed around her, as she lies curled up on the forest floor. She's hugging her knees, gently rocking on her side, but it does nothing to hide the pool of blood she is lying in. Stabbed in the stomach, poor girl. Whenever she's seen Heather in action she's been fast and muscly, quick with a knife. She's never appreciated how small she really is, right now she seems barely larger than a child.

JD glances at Heather. She doesn't like the expression that forms on his face, it's the same one he wears when he's trapped her into doing something she doesn't want to, when he knows he has all the power.

"Want me to kill her?" he says, not bothering to lower his voice in front of the whimpering girl.

It would be the easiest solution, she could walk away, not hear the girl who had a fiancé waiting for her at home's final screams. She could forget that Heather McNamara was anything other than another enemy that they've defeated and, honestly, her life would be better for it. It's what they expect. It's what he preaches. She really should let it all happen in front of her, as she did with Courtney, with Martha, with Betty…

Or she could use the little power she's been granted for good for once.

She pushes him away, "Oh go sate your bloodlust by killing a bunny rabbit or something."

He doesn't really move, just takes a couple of steps and leans against a tree, and continues watching with amusement. She rolls her eyes, turns her back on him and goes up to Heather.

The girl is feebly struggling, still conscious, but with no more than a couple of hours' life left in her.

She tries to move away as Veronica approaches, but only succeeds in getting more blood to pour out of her wound, a cry of pain escapes her lips.

"Shhh, Heather, you don't need to move. It's only me, it's Veronica." She kneels down beside her and gently grasps her hand, "Was it Brad who did this? Is he near?"

But the girl shakes her head, "Heather," she croaks.

"Heather Duke?"

When she speaks it is barely a whisper, "I couldn't keep up with her, she said I was a waste of space."

She thinks back to Heather Duke back at the Career camp, tries to reconcile her with the girl who tortured Courtney yesterday, the girl who could now so callously stab an ally who she'd spent the past two weeks with, just because her life would be easier without her.

Veronica clearly isn't the only one who has sold her soul for the chance to survive.

"She wants you dead, you know."

Veronica laughs humourlessly, eyes flickering to the boy still coolly watching them from a distance, "Doesn't everyone?"

"Yeah, but she wants to kill you especially, as painfully as she can, you killed Heather, Kurt and Ram and raided our supplies."

"I didn't kill Hea… not the point, do you know where she is now? Is she close?"

Heather screws up her face in concentration, "She left an hour ago, maybe? I can't tell… it hurts, I haven't heard her in a while."

No certainties there, but she figures Heather Duke probably doesn't think she'll have headed straight for a dying girl and, with JD as a lookout, they're probably at least as safe here as they would be anywhere else.

"Don't worry about that now, Heather. Focus on breathing, if you don't struggle it will hurt less." She tries to find more to say, but what is there? _"You'll be ok,"_ is as much of a lie as, _"I don't want you to die."_ But the girl is here and she is hurting, so she squeezes her hand tighter, so she can know someone is there as she suffers.

"I wasn't supposed to volunteer." Heather says after a few minutes, her voice straining with the effort, but she seems to need someone to hear her final confession before she goes, "They said I wasn't strong enough, chose another girl at the academy to volunteer this year, but it was my last chance – I didn't want to have spent all this time training for nothing, to have let everyone who believed in me down. Everyone told me not to, my family said they'd still be proud of me, Chris said he didn't want to see me suffer. But I did it, I pushed in first, only one person can volunteer so it was me, I did it. And now… and now… they'll all see me die."

She doesn't have the energy left for any more tears, but Veronica doesn't need them to understand.

"They won't see you suffer though." She says, gently, "Not anymore. I'll kill you quickly and then all the pain will be gone. Is that ok?"

Heather nods, squeezing Veronica's hand gratefully. As she does so Veronica can feel a cold metal band rub against their entwined, bloodstained fingers.

Veronica looks down at Heather's ring, still glistening under the dirt and blood, it's beauty somehow untarnished, "Tell me about your fiance," she says, "you clearly love each other so much." It feels like lulling a child to sleep. It's the most human she's felt in days.

"We do." Says Heather, "Our love is… God, our love is perfect. He's so handsome, with golden curls and blue eyes like the sky. He's really sweet, he used to wait for me every day outside the academy, we used to hold hands and walk round the streets just talking and watching the sunset. He was the only one who got me, who knew I was more than just pretty and fierce, he didn't just care if I was a victor, he understood the me inside of me…"

She's smiling when Veronica plunges the knife into her. The cannon goes off before she has time to take it out, consciously not looking at the blood of the girl who had a loving family and a future husband waiting for her at home. Heather should have known, they should have all known, there's no place for love here – not in the arena, not in Panem. She turns away, blinks hard to get rid of the water building up in her eyes.

"That was disgusting." his voice, cutting through the glade, feels unnaturally loud after her whispered conversation.

_Ah yes, back to reality._

She rounds on him, "Which bit? The utter destruction of a human life and the life of everyone who loved her or the idea that showing some compassion might be a good thing?"

He snorts, "In what way was she deserving of your compassion? You've seen her kill. You've seen her taunt those weaker than her. Believe me, if your positions had been reversed she wouldn't have been holding your hand and singing you off to sleep."

"That doesn't mean it wasn't worth doing! I comforted a scared girl moments before her death, it didn't cost me anything, how is that a bad thing?"

"And now she is dead, beyond feeling, and the deed you did is worthless."

"It was worth it to me, it was worth it to her, maybe it was worth it to her family and her fiancé. What did a little bit of compassion cost me?"

"Nothing gets done with compassion faster than it would get done with violence."

 _Worthless, disposable, not even worthy of a gentle death,_ he doesn't see why it matters, doesn't value her as a human at all, _is this what he'll feel for me once I am gotten rid of?_

She seethes, wondering how she ever thought the two of them had anything in common, "Well excuse me for not being needlessly cruel. With catchphrases like that, President Gowan should employ you as one of his advisors."

"I'm not needlessly cruel, I use the right amount of cruelty to reach my end goals."

"What end goals? Mass murder?"

He smirks, "Sometimes."

She rolls her eyes and looks around for Heather's bag.

"It's not there." JD says, "Heather Duke must have taken it with her. I looked when you were taking ages. You could have at least asked her if there was any water nearby."

"Yeah, that was clearly the most pressing matter."

"It's the most pressing matter for us."

"A girl, who, regardless of who she was, was always kind to me, has just died painfully. Have some fucking respect."

"She was one person. Not even a good person, who we always knew had to die. Do you know how many people die every day in this shitty country? Do you know how many people would give their lives to change things? I don't know why you're getting so emotional over her, it's so… so female."

That pisses her off, resisting the urge to stab him right there and then, she instead stops in her tracks and turns to face him, "Well, if you haven't noticed from all the fucking we've been doing, I am female." she says, pulling up her shirt and flashing him. "But if you're so sure that's a bad thing, maybe we should just cry in front of Heather Duke and she'll make sure not to attack us." And she swings her bag on her back, continuing northward at such a pace that he has to run to catch up with her.

She keeps on going, him trailing at her heels until the sun is low in the sky. Still they find no water. Eventually she admits defeat, and flops down in some bracken covered woodland, just as the Anthem starts playing.

Heather beams down at her, golden curls framing her unblemished face, she looks excited about finally getting a chance to do something she'd trained her whole life for and happily planning the wedding she is sure she'll have on her return.

Veronica imagines herself in Heather's shoes, imagines training for years and years for these Games, knowing that this is what your life is leading to. A chance of fame, of riches and adoration. This is your only chance to escape the curse of being born in the districts. The only way to know that you won't be forgotten. Of course you would do anything to win.

Sure, it's a stupid way of viewing something that will likely cause you to needlessly die, but that makes it no less tragic.

And if she's honest with herself, riches, fame, her life meaning something, is it that much different from what she's always wished for?

"She was just a girl who wanted what we all want. To be the victor. To win." She says, as much to herself as to him.

"You don't win by being the victor," he snaps, making no attempt to keep his voice down, "they win," he gestures to the sky, "they always win the game they've rigged in their favour."

xxx

They don't risk a fire tonight. Instead, they get out their sleeping bags and sit inside them for warmth, as they eat more of the food left in their backpacks, and check their water supply. Both of them have a little less than a litre left, it's enough if they find water early tomorrow, but if it takes any longer they're going to struggle.

They don't talk more than necessary. She keeps an eye on him, checking where his knife is, ensuring her own is right beside her. Any warmth they had for each other, real or imagined, has faded. Their goals no longer overlap. The best way for either of them to progress is for the other to die, and he's made it perfectly clear today that he feels no sympathy no matter who he kills.

When he leans over and kisses her, she doesn't feel objectified as much as possessed. If she knew the possession would end the moment she killed him maybe that would be ok, but she knows she can never be free, not from him, not from the Capitol, not from herself. She lets him continue for a few minutes, but the feel of his lips on her neck no longer takes her away from the arena, they just remind her of what she's done to get here.

When he tries to pull her down to the ground she pushes him away. He scowls but doesn't try again.

She's glad when he asks her to take first watch.

As she waits for him to go to sleep she thinks not of Heather McNamara but of Heather Duke. How she had quietly noticed when Veronica was suffering, how, in her own way, she had helped her. What must she have gone through for her to turn into this?

But she already knows, of course she does. Veronica knows more than anyone that to win you need to push any part of you that makes you human to the side, you need to embrace your inner monster and lose any mercy you may have for everyone who is suffering just like you. And, even after all that, you are still just following orders. Even though you have fought with everything you have, whatever remains of you is still just doing what the Capitol has always wanted.

Showing compassion to Heather McNamara today was just a token gesture, a way to fool herself into thinking she had some control, but JD was right, in the grand scheme of things it is meaningless. Until there is a revolution she will always be playing right into their hands.

And with that bitter taste in her mouth, she knows the next foul deed that she must commit.

xxx

She waits until he is softly snoring to make her move. As quietly as possible she grabs her knife and gets to her feet. If she does it now, before she thinks about it, before it seems like a betrayal, she'll only have two tributes and the eternal grasp of the Capitol to worry about.

All she needs to do is slit his throat and he will be gone.

She looks at his sleeping form. He is dead to the world, apparently unconcerned by either waking or sleeping nightmares, like he always is. Her pulse quickens, her breathing fast, as she tries to think of every terrible thing he's done to her and not of the moments they've shared. God, she hopes he doesn't wake up, not even when it's too late to stop her. She doesn't think she can handle another betrayed cry haunting her dreams.

She takes a cautious step forward and her heart sinks as she takes in the rest of the situation. There are dried leaves surrounding his sleeping bag, his knife no longer lies between them but is gripped firmly in his hand, glistening red in the moonlight. No matter how quietly she creeps, the sound of her footsteps on the leaves will wake him up, ready to attack. It's deliberate, she realises, he has said nothing, of course, but he knows that she's starting to value the idea of one fewer competitor more than the protection his presence can offer. He knows she is a threat and he is working at the top of his ability to mitigate it.

She's quite flattered really.

She rethinks. If she can't kill him, she can still run, take all of the supplies from him and make her own way – praying for the unlikely chance that someone else kills him off before she has to face him. She searches around for the bags but she can't find them.

 _They're in the sleeping bag,_ she realises, the bastard has worked out her plan here too, he knows she won't live long enough to win without any food or their ever dwindling water and she can't get anything without waking him. She's trapped, just as much as she has been when she needed him to survive.

She slumps back into her sleeping bag, defeated. She will leave on his terms only, in the grip of a hovercraft and with the boom of a cannon. The cut he gave her after he killed Heather, when he held a knife to her stomach and threatened to kill her, has scabbed over. She picks at it until a few ruby droplets ooze out.

Far, far too late to join her, she realises she envies Betty. To die at least a little on your own terms, your hands still clean, believing you'll make a difference, rather than having your throat slit by a psychopath when he no longer finds you useful. Maybe then you even feel somewhat good about your impending fate.

But she didn't choose that path, did she? She was much too selfish, content to let others die if it meant that she survived. She thinks about everyone she had a part in killing, or at least didn't help: David, the girl from District 7, Martha, Heather, Peter, Kurt, Ram, Keith, Courtney. Nine. Nine people are dead who might not be if it wasn't for her. She raises her knife and gently presses the blade against the side of her arm, again and again, until there are nine notches, to remind herself of who she really is whenever she starts to think she's done something good.

 _Humans were not meant to live like this,_ she thinks, as she watches a few drops of blood trickle down her wrist, _knowing their only companions will happily betray them or die horribly, maybe by their own hand._ How can she go forward, how can she return home, knowing she has lived like this? Does she have enough of a soul left?

She looks at her companion, almost peaceful when asleep, of course, some of them have lived like this for years.

When he takes over guard duty she sleeps surrounded by the crunchy leaves, with the bags inside her sleeping bag and a tight grip on her knife.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 9**

**District 1  
** ~~Heather McNamara~~   
~~Ram Sweeny~~

**District 2  
** ~~Heather Chandler~~   
~~David Remington~~

**District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~   
~~Peter Dawson~~

**District 4  
** Heather Duke  
 ~~Kurt Kelly~~

**District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~   
~~Rodney Bulb~~

**District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~   
~~Al Springer~~

**District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~   
~~Bobby Young~~

**District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

**District 9  
** ~~Courtney Chadwick~~   
~~Keith Harrington~~

**District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~   
~~Dennis Grundy~~

**District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~   
~~Dwight Archer~~

**District 12  
** ~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 1  
 **Survivors:** 4


	15. Arena Day 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down in this chapter (she says as if shit doesn’t go down in every chapter, but particularly dramatic shit goes down).
> 
> Just one bingo, it’s new.

He wakes her up at the crack of dawn. She doesn't really mind, he's not holding a knife to her throat and her sleeping had been fitful anyway, haunted by screaming children whom she chased down and devoured alive, and his reasoning is sound. The sooner they get to a body of water the better.

"We were right about going north by the way," he adds casually, pointing to the mountains as if commenting on how lucky they were to have finished a picnic before a rainstorm hit.

She's not particularly surprised to see the ensuing devastation. The mountains are erupting. All of them. At once. A river of lava flows down them and into the nearby forest.

She barks out a laugh, "Told you. The Gamemakers are masters of subtlety."

She already knows Heather is going north, and Brad is likely there now so she wonders if it's more to show off all the traps they built to the audience than to kill anyone. Nevertheless, it's another way to draw them together and one fewer place to hide.

He's already mostly packed by the time she manages to get the energy to drag herself out of the sleeping bag.

"Come on, only two of them left to kill." He says, with the expected lack of understanding of the emotional weight that such actions carry.

 _Three of us left to kill._ She thinks to herself, never taking her eyes off his knife.

They eat as they walk, mostly choosing the remaining fruit they have in their bags, and avoiding anything salty, so they retain as much water as possible. They don't talk much, and she makes sure she trails behind him so she can keep an eye on what he is doing and doesn't find a knife piercing her back.

Just like yesterday, they continue on and on as the sun rises higher in the sky, it's blazing heat, inviting them to use up their remaining supplies. And yet there is still no sign of a stream to reward them for their efforts.

Eventually, he admits defeat, he leans against a tree trunk groaning, throwing his head back until it bounces against the wood.

"Can't those fuckers give us anything? God, I'd kill for a cigarette."

"You already have." She says, monotonously, slumping down beside him, glad for the break, "Multiple times."

"Where are they then?" He says, "You'd think one of those parachutes of yours would have something useful in."

She glares at him.

"What? I'd share them with you."

"That's better." She's tired, so tired, of him, of the arena, of walking, of her aching body and her unbearable thoughts, of herself, of wondering if each day will be her last. To be honest, a cigarette sounds fucking fantastic.

She checks her flask, there are only a few mouthfuls of water left.

"How much further away is this river?"

"Can't be long now. Martha wasn't particularly fast, I don't think we got that far out when we found the water during our first few days."

Her stomach twists at the mention of Martha and she remembers, despite their need, part of her doesn't ever want to reach their destination. Because what then? When does she give him the slip? Or does she try to shove a blade in his body before he does the same to her?

Does he even know there's water up here, or is this just a lie, one more way to force her to stay beside him?

He is a monster, she knows he is, the question is just when he decides to attack.

Nonetheless, she gets up as he pushes himself off the tree and she continues as if the light at the end of the tunnel is still something worth aiming for.

Not long later he stops so abruptly that she nearly bangs into him.

"Have you got your knife out?"

"No. I thought I'd just leave it right at the bottom of my bag, so if we got attacked it would be as far out of reach as possible. Any reason that might be a bad idea?"

He ignores the sarcasm and lets him move beside her. They're looking into a clearing. He points to what is clearly the remains of a campfire, surrounded by fish bones and the partially eaten body of…

"Is that a… crocodile?"

"That's a very big crocodile."

_Thank God it's dead._

Well, at least she knows she was right in her assessment of where her district partner has been residing.

"Reckon he might still be nearby?"

He goes over, runs the charcoal and ash through his fingers and kicks the crocodile more brutally than is strictly necessary, causing a swarm of flies to take to the air.

"Seems a little abandoned, but he might have not moved far. I wonder what made him move away."

"Probably the giant crocodile. I don't know if you agree, but that doesn't look like it was too fun to fight."

Eagles, lions, crocodiles, and God knows what else waiting to be unleashed in this forest. It must be a wet dream for the Zoologists in the Capitol.

He hums thoughtfully.

In any case, if there is a camp, crocodiles and fish bones, the water cannot be far away. Potentially vicious, predator infested water, but anything to relieve her parched throat.

All she'll have to do is watch her back, lest he pushes her in.

And sure enough, not five minutes later, she starts to see the, now familiar, patches of reeds that surround most of the water in this arena. She wants to run forward, but his steps in front of her are warier. Suddenly he lets out a frustrated sigh, "I knew it," he mumbles.

Her stomach sinks.

"Hey, Veronica." He says, over his shoulder.

"Yes, dear?"

"I don't think it was the crocodile that drove Brad away."

She walks over to where he is standing. Next to him is a gully, still full of gunk and reeds.

Bone dry.

She kicks some nearby pebbles, watching them slide down the couple of metres of dusty expanse in disgust, "What assholes."

"My thoughts exactly."

She gets her flask out to sate her dry mouth, sipping mournfully at the trickle of water left inside, and throws her bag on the ground in frustration.

"Ok, what next?" she says, pacing up and down the glade.

"I see two options, either we follow what was the stream and see if it meets water at some point, or we continue to go north. From the looks of that lava, it's certainly what they want us to do."

He's right. Of fucking course he is. Somewhere there is someone controlling this river, draining it for their own amusement, with no real thought to her suffering or how much longer she has to put up with waiting for him to kill her. Or maybe really, they have put entirely too much thought into this, the viewers are probably revelling in her pain, waiting on tenterhooks for him to decide that now is the time that she'll be more entertaining to him if she's dead.

The thought of his hands on her body, just days before, sicken her almost as much as the cameras which are still watching her suffer. She feels like a toy, played with and used for other people's amusement until, sooner or later, they lose interest and dispose of her, any affection they have for her easily forgotten.

It feels like nothing could get any worse.

Which is just when the giant wolf comes running out of the woods and straight towards her.

There's no time to run. There's no time to do anything really. By the time she has looked up to register the creature with its black eyes locked on her throat, its claws are digging into her chest and pushing her to the ground. Saliva drips from what looks like hundreds of razor-sharp teeth as the animal snarls and opens its deadly jaws.

She thinks she would have got used to that feeling of impending doom by now. The absolute certainty that she is going to die, right here, right now, considering how many times she's felt it in the past few days. But still, in between all the dread, the knowledge that however shit her life is right now she still doesn't quite want it to end seeps through her stronger than ever before. But it's the end now, it has to be, her knife is still clutched weakly in her hand but there are no mines left and no reason for anyone to save her. At least with the tributes she could find a way of reasoning, of proving she was more useful to them alive, but this creature knows nothing but the desire to kill, and it can do so much more competently than she can.

It lunges towards her and she struggles furiously but only manages to move a few inches, so the teeth aiming for her windpipe instead sink into her left shoulder. She cries out in pain, her arms flapping uselessly in an attempt to push it off. The wolf, seeing it has missed its target raises its head again, moving in for the kill.

There is a scuffle and a cry beside her and something knocks into the wolf, distracting it from its goal. With a howl, its front paws move off her body so it can face its new assailant and she struggles out from under it and scrabbles to her feet.

She just has time to catch a glance of JD, raising his already dripping red knife towards the snarling creature, before he shoves her backwards and she tumbles into the gully, hitting what feels like every stone on the way down. She lands flat on her back, winded, and, for a few seconds, can do nothing but feel the sting of a million scratches, bruises and cuts as she tries to force air back into her lungs.

Eventually, she manages to push herself up into a seated position and look around. She moves her left arm experimentally, it hurts like hell and makes the tooth marks weep, but thankfully it seems to still work. Her knife, thank God, is beside her and she miraculously hasn't landed on it. She grabs it quickly, every part of her body aching from this simple move.

She can hear the chaos above her, the snarling and whining as the wolf tries to avoid his knife, and JD's yells of pain as its teeth pierce and pull at his flesh. Occasionally, she sees flashes of them over the ridge, dark grey fur fighting a figure covered in red.

Her first instinct is to force herself back onto her feet, clamber up and do her best to help overpower the beast, surely with two of them one could distract while the other could attack?

 _Or,_ says a sneaky voice in the back of her head, _you could not do anything, and let the wolf do what it's programmed to do to undertrained tributes._

All impetuous to fight immediately goes. She stays where she is, sinking lower into the ditch. Not daring to run, even if her broken body would let her, lest the wolf notices its favourite snack is still nearby.

The snarls and cries continue for what feels like forever, she closes her eyes so she can't see anything at all, but it doesn't help because she can imagine what sort of injuries someone who is likely moments from being killed might be getting. Even if he does survive, any wounds from this could easily make the difference between life and death when it comes to the last few battles.

And here she sits, refusing to help, not because she can't, not because she's a coward, but because it's a calculated move.

Whatever they should mean to each other, he's been her partner for so long now that not helping this boy, who has promised to kill her so many times, makes her feel awful, she feels dirty and selfish, but mostly she is just thoroughly confused, because why is she even in this situation? The wolf wasn't attacking him, it went straight for her without giving him a moment's glance. He could have run. He could have stayed still and watched, just as she's doing right now. She's not sure she could have even blamed him for it, with four tributes left, the best way she can help him win is to die. And yet, he did not. He pushed her aside, made sure she wouldn't get hurt any further and then risked himself to finish the fight.

Her brain is no longer addled by the fall. Instead, it is whirring at a million miles an hour, thinking back over the days she's spent with him, trying to make sense of it all.

There's a thump and somehow the beast is on the ground, making no more sound. Dead. She hears the unpleasant _shluk_ of him stabbing the knife a few more times just to make sure. She struggles to her feet, trying to ignore the pain from the cuts all over her skin, but he rushes over with the bags, jumping down to join her.

He looks like a scene from a horror movie. The black eye he got from Ram might have made him look hotter in a "what a badass" sort of way, but even she has her limits, the blood and gashes on his face and body now make him look like some sort of creature reanimated and brought back from the dead. The image of what he will turn himself into to achieve his goals makes her recoil.

"Are you ok?" he wears an odd expression, something she's never seen before and it makes him look even more unrecognisable than his injuries do. She nods, lets him approach her and inspect her wounds, they're not as deep as she feared, not even the bite. He takes some antiseptic and bandages out of his first aid kit and gives them to her before tending to his own wounds, and his expression goes back to normal.

It's only once her heart rate tempers and she can think again, that it clicks. His expression. It was fear. For the first time, she'd seen a crack in his perfectly painted façade, because it was the first time she'd seen him when he felt completely out of control.

Everything hurts and they need to get away before they draw attention to themselves, but the sound comes out anyway, she can't stop hysterically laughing.

He looks up, alarmed, and then his face instantly darkens.

"Shut up and come with me." He hisses, any concern he had for her moments ago already dissipated. He drags her roughly trying to get her up the other side of the gully, with no care for the wound in her shoulder, but she still doesn't cease, she's not sure she can, not with all the emotions rushing through her veins. It's elation and shock and terror all at once. She will never shut up again. Not for him.

With a burst of sudden insight, she knows she's not afraid of him anymore. Because he's always going on about finding other people's weaknesses, God knows she's been sure for days he's been carefully assessing hers, but for the first time, she might just have found his.

"No." The word rolls out of her mouth easily, and she pulls her arm out of his grip, her only regret is that she hasn't done it days ago.

"I think you should stop doing this, darling, or I'll make you stop," he pointedly glances at the blade still in his other hand.

"No you won't," she says, confidence rising with every word, "or at least you won't right now. Whatever sick plan you have for me does not involve me dying here."

If she didn't know otherwise she'd swear his eyes were pure murder. Before she has time to react, he grabs her by the forearms, pushes her against the wall, he moves his blade towards her and she feels the cool, sharp metal against her throat. He's so close she can feel his breath on her face, "Are you willing to bet your life on that, sweetheart?"

His face is dripping with blood and his eyes are as merciless as always, but she doesn't look away. He wants her to be scared, but she's not, she's not at all, because she knows, for once, that she has all the power.

She smiles sweetly at him, "Go on then JD, put me out of my misery."

He hesitates and, with a snort, she knocks the blade out of his hand, pushing him away, and with the thrill of knowing the whole of Panem will be cheering her on, she raises her own blade.

The fear flickers in his eyes again, but then it is replaced by a look more feral than the beast he just slayed. His hand shoots into his pocket as if he might find an even more fearsome weapon there.

"Don't you even think about it. Try to kill me Veronica, and I swear to chaos itself that I will kill us both right now and everyone will lose," there is such certainty in his glare that part of her can't not believe him.

She doesn't break eye contact, as she considers whether to go for it anyway. She could overpower him, she's sure of it, especially in this state, but his knife is not far off and he's probably right, he could injure her enough in the process that she'd never be able to defeat Heather and Brad.

Her smirk doesn't waver, she simply opens her hand and lets the knife drop to the floor, the metallic clang a second later is the only accompaniment to the sound of their breathing. She tries to move towards the bags but he jolts towards her, grabbing both wrists in a bruising grip, body slamming her against the side of the gully and covering her mouth with his, before she even has a chance to gasp. This isn't about affection, it isn't even about lust. This is about control. Pure and simple. He is fusing them together, branding his thoughts upon her soul, until she is owned by him and only him. Until he knows she can't escape him.

But she's done with being in other people's control.

She bites his tongue with all the strength she can muster. Blood floods both their mouths, he releases her in pain, swearing all the while. She slaps him, making sure to hit his black eye, raking her nails down his face, hitting all his new gashes, and pushes him away, hard enough that he falls to the ground.

She steadies herself on her feet, picks up the knife and swaggers over to the backpacks, "I'll take them both, shall I, babe? Seems only fair after having to put up with you."

He grabs his knife as if there is any threat left in it, "Veronica, come back. You are going to regret this!"

She cackles, relishing every moment "I doubt it, but go ahead and throw a tantrum, you baby."

He shouts and swears at her, picking up rocks and throwing them at her, that emotionless expression nothing more than a distant memory as she systematically tears apart all his plans. He's dangerous, he's barely in control and she fucking loves it.

Her laugh is manic, and she probably is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but she doesn't really care because it's worth it for this high. She waves, even managing a grin for the cameras as she clambers out of the gully, heading northwards at no fast pace, swinging her hips.

"You're not mad at me Veronica," he shouts, "I'm not the reason you're here."

His cries fade as she goes deeper into the woods, until they are gone and she is alone. She sits down, allowing herself a few more drops of water (though even with JD's flask she does not have much), relishing only being able to hear the soft sounds of the forest and her own breathing. Finally, she's somewhere where she can't feel him breathing down her neck. Finally, she's free.

She looks round the confines of her elaborate execution block. Well, she's as free as she can be and alone as someone who is being watched by everyone in the world. God, she wants to fucking cry, but she doesn't because she also wants sponsors.

She picks herself up, doing her best to show the cameras all the confidence she had earlier. She moves everything she needs from his bag into her own and continues onwards until sundown but still she finds no water.

The Anthem plays, just as she settles for the night, but there have been no deaths today. The Capitol probably don't mind. Not after the stunt she just pulled. There's enough anticipation to keep them going until tomorrow, they're probably hyping it up right now _. Veronica and JD, the final battle, can hate survive? Ten to one that he stabs her in the neck! Fifty to one that she leaves him to bleed out after stabbing him in the stomach! Seventy to one that he wakes her up tonight by slitting her throat!_

She's not heard the last of him, she's sure of it. Nor will his weird desire to not kill her have any impact on Heather's revenge plan. Tomorrow will be worse than ever, and she is just as likely to meet her doom, but at least (if she sleeps with one eye open) for now she can rest.

She drinks the last of the water as she settles down in her sleeping bag, relishing the calm before the storm.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 10**

**District 1  
** ~~Heather McNamara~~   
~~Ram Sweeny~~

**District 2  
** ~~Heather Chandler~~   
~~David Remington~~

**District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~   
~~Peter Dawson~~

**District 4  
** Heather Duke  
 ~~Kurt Kelly~~

**District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~   
~~Rodney Bulb~~

**District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~   
~~Al Springer~~

**District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~   
~~Bobby Young~~

**District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
Brad Richards

**District 9  
** ~~Courtney Chadwick~~   
~~Keith Harrington~~

**District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~   
~~Dennis Grundy~~

**District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~   
~~Dwight Archer~~

**District 12  
** ~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

 **Deaths today:** 0  
 **Survivors:** 4


	16. Arena Day 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bingo: 1 new, 2 repeats

She is awakened by a beeping noise. She groans, massaging her temples in an attempt to abate the throbbing pain in her head, struggles to her feet and grabs the parachute out of the air. She nearly calls for him but then she remembers and plays it off for the cameras as checking for enemies who might have seen the delivery.

There are two packages attached. The first is the most welcome, half a litre of water – it's probably the most they've been allowed to send her, she downs half of it gratefully, and her pounding headache subsides a little.

Only then does she inspect the second package. It's a knife, a new one, longer than her previous, better quality as well, it handles more lightly, and its grip fits her hand more comfortably. She experimentally runs her finger down the blade and almost instantly it is stained by a drop of red. Sharp. Very sharp. It must have cost her fans a lot. Clearly her stunt last night has impressed people back in the Capitol. Maybe they'll think it's worth all the money if they get to see her stab this fancy knife into his chest. That is, of course, if someone doesn't manage to get to her first.

Freedom from him, she thinks, would taste so much sweeter if her impending death wasn't still looming over her.

She wonders if JD is getting the same kinds of gifts, or if he's correct in thinking that Haymitch is still refusing to send him anything, even after she left him with no supplies. At this stage does it matter much? The Capitol want a final battle, she's sure of that, they're not going to let either of them die a bloodless death.

And of course, it's not only JD. She still has two more challengers, both stronger and better trained than her, and if (or when) she has to face them, she no longer has a numerical advantage.

_Oh God, what have I done?_

Her throat is still dry but she allows herself no more water. She replaces the bandages on her shoulder wound and then sets off. The sky is cloudless and the sun burns down on her the moment it hits her skin, the dry heat doing nothing to comfort her yearning.

Even with JD's supplies, there's not much food left in her bag, so she forages as she walks. She scrutinises the berries she picks carefully, (it's so much harder when she doesn't have someone who seemingly knows everything about poison to check with), before deciding she doesn't really fucking care and gulps them all down in several handfuls. She's mostly pleased when she doesn't die.

The forest is unrelenting, and more daunting when she has no real idea where to go and no one beside her to fight with, or even just to talk to. Her bruised, burnt legs are aching, pleading for her to take a break, but her throat begs her to proceed.

She'd forgotten, with him by her side, how lonely it is to be in the arena, to be the only person who wants you to live.

The others can't be far away, not really. Knowing JD, he'll be doing his best to follow her, and she knows Heather Duke is out to kill her personally. Even if that wasn't the case, there are three other tributes left, all heading in the same direction, and a bloodthirsty audience desperate for action. She grips her knife tightly, doing a few practice swipes in the air as if that will make her prepared enough to fight her potential attackers, and continues walking, wondering which step will be her last.

By midday, she has no water left, and she is starting to doubt her certainty that the Capitol isn't planning just to let them all die of dehydration. Her headache has come back with a vengeance, and every minute she walks she covers less distance. She doesn't care anymore, all three tributes could come out of the bushes right now and slowly torture her, and she's sure it would not be nearly as painful as the dryness in her throat. She stops by a bush, stuffs some more dubious looking berries into her mouth, just for the moisture, and slumps against a tree trunk, trying to convince herself that continuing on is worth it

And then she hears it. The most beautiful sound ever, the gentle trickle and splash of flowing water.

All her energy surging back at once, she runs in the direction of the sound. The moment she gets to the stream she falls to her knees, cupping her hands and drinking great gulps of the cool liquid, she does it again and again until it feels like there is no space left in her stomach. She then takes several more handfuls to splash over her face and shoulders, to provide her some relief from the searing heat and scalding sunburn which is defacing all the skin not covered by her clothes.

When she feels almost alive again, she manages to pull herself away from the life-giving liquid long enough to reach into her bag and fill up all her bottles. She's just putting them back when she notices something else hidden beneath the nearby reeds. Curiosity getting the better of her, she goes over to investigate. At first, she thinks it's just a pile of rope, perhaps discarded, but then she sees the way it's been placed, floating in the water, catching what swims underneath.

A fishing net, well made, it could be Heather Duke's craft, she is from District 4, but Heather has access to food, it's more likely...

She hears Brad before she sees him, loud, crunching footsteps moving towards her, but it's far too late. She only manages to run a few steps before he grabs her by the ruff of her shirt. He pulls her towards him, pushing her up against a tree trunk, close enough that his every putrid breath falls on her face, reeking of fish.

She reaches for her knife but, of fucking course, it is lying on the river bank, a metre or so away, where she had dropped it in her desperation to hydrate herself.

It takes a second for recognition to show on his features, not the way it did when they were first reaped and shook hands, where she could see the cogs turning very slowly in his head trying to work out whether he had seen this nondescript girl at school before. Instead, he looks taken aback at the wreck of an individual in front of him, nothing like any of the girls back when they were at the Training Centre.

_God, how awful do I look now?_

Though, if they're comparing appearances, he's not the star football player that her peers swooned over anymore either. His face is patterned with cuts and bruises, his shirt is so ripped and covered in muck she's not sure why he's still bothering wearing it, and underneath there is what appears to be bite marks. Some animal, probably the crocodile they saw yesterday, has taken large chunks out of his flesh. Some of his wounds have scabbed over, others are oozing and look ripe for infection. Maybe if she left him a few more days he'd die of blood poisoning. Unfortunately, she thinks as he grabs his knife, a few days is a little more time than she has.

She tries to struggle but his hold is too tight. _God, all of this suffering and I'm going to be killed by fucking Brad, who hasn't even managed to win our school a football league._

_At least,_ she thinks bitterly as she sees the glint of the knife swinging towards her, _the Capitol will be upset at the anticlimactic end to my rivalry with JD and District 8 will be furious at Brad for…_

And then she knows what to do.

She goes limp in his arms, suddenly calm, she looks up at him and smirks, "Really? Your own district partner? Do you have no honour? Kill me and you won't be welcome back home anyway."

He pauses, grip slackening, the look of pained desperation in his eyes is there for only a split second, but the distraction is enough. She slides out of his hold just in time and his knife misses her neck and buries itself deep into the tree trunk. She races towards the riverbank, as he tries to pull it out. Grabbing her own knife, she sneaks up behind him, plunges it into his stomach and twists. He falls down, writhing in agony.

She steps back, very aware that even in his pain he is still strong enough to grab her and pull her down with him. She watches for a moment or two, unsure of what to do.

There's a rustling noise in the distance; footsteps perhaps? They're too far away to tell if they're human, beast or maybe just the wind, in any case, she needs to be gone.

Brad is still groaning but she doesn't have time to finish him off properly, the wound will be fatal eventually anyway. She grabs his bag, lying beside him, and her own and hurtles off into the woodland, bloody knife still clutched in her hand.

She hears another noise behind her, and she mentally prepares herself for a sharp and painful object hitting her in the back, or a fierce grip on her arm as she weaves in and out of the trees, desperate to escape any potential pursuer, but the pain never comes and eventually the sound is gone. Who knows, maybe it was in her head all along.

She runs for another ten minutes before she risks pausing to catch her breath. Still she doesn't hear the cannon. Brad is still clinging onto life by a thread. Her stomach twists. She could have afforded to stay a moment longer and kill him.

_If JD were here he'd tell me I was right,_ she thinks, in spite of herself. His reasoning would be bullshit, of course, but if she didn't think too hard it would have made sense, and in any case, it would make her feel like the sanest person in the vicinity.

She gulps down a little of her, now thankfully restored, water and then reaches into her pocket to pull out a snack. Instead, her hand comes into contact with something soft. She looks at it. It's the patchwork handkerchief with the skyline of home, that Cecelia gave her what seems like a lifetime ago. For a moment she stares at it blankly and then suddenly she is overwhelmed.

For the first time, or maybe the first time she can admit it, she thinks of District 8: the concrete buildings and long, straight roads with no green in sight, the smoggy air that left a slightly metallic taste on the tongue, the constant whirring of motors and machinery that didn't cease, even in the dead of night. There's nothing of the place where she grew up that she can recognise in the arena. She thinks of her parents, maybe not affectionate but _there_ , thinks of her schoolmates who'd grin at her black humour and beckon her over to gush over the latest designs of dresses their parents would slave over, and someone in the Capitol would wear twice. She remembers scrawling in her diary in her small bedroom, her old drawings and dress designs plastered over the walls. If she closes her eyes she almost feels like she's there.

God, she misses it all so much.

Not that she can ever go back now. Not even if she wins.

She thinks about Brad, about how much of an ass he has always been, about how he used to make crude comments about girls at school, about how he shrugged her off to buddy up with the Careers, how he teamed up with David to kill the Heathers, how he just tried to kill her… She thinks about how he wished her luck before they left and how she ignored him, about how he never asked to be reaped either, about how he was trying to get home, just like her.

She thinks of him now, a boy from her district, lying on the forest floor, dying, agonisingly so, because she didn't fight fair. Somewhere JD is laughing at what he's turned her into.

She tries, desperately, to remember what she was like before him.

She looks back at the way she just came, how far has she run? The footsteps are gone, if there really was someone following her, surely they're no longer along the route? Wouldn't going back the way she came be the last thing they expect her to do anyway?

Is it even worth it? God knows her district is not going to hate her any less for killing Brad, whatever she does now.

She squeezes her eyes shut, sighs dramatically and then takes off back in the direction she came. If she dies because she mercy-killed Brad she's going to fucking murder him.

He's whimpering when she reaches him, barely conscious. He doesn't look fierce or arrogant or moronic anymore. He looks like the last reminder of the life she had before that she'll ever see. When she approaches he doesn't register. She kills him quickly, so she no longer has to think about it. The cannon booms almost instantly.

She kneels down beside his body, carefully opens his lifeless hand and encloses the handkerchief in it. Now he can leave with a part of District 8 and she doesn't have to be reminded of what she's lost.

xxx

She refills what little water she has drunk, empties the fish Brad caught in his net into her bag and then sets off away from the water. She figures the further she moves away from the stream the less chance she has of an unexpected encounter with Heather or JD.

When the sun is low in the sky, and finally some of the heat of the day has faded, she finds herself a clearing and sits down, leaning against a tree trunk.

She empties out Brad's bag, as she suspected, it's mostly filled with fish. But near the bottom is a cast iron frying pan, cream for his injuries, a waterproof jacket, some fire starters and some snack bars.

Parachute gifts, no doubt about it. More gifts than her, "Fuck you, Pauline Fleming," she mutters although not loudly enough for the cameras to pick up, lest there's some sponsor money left, "I could have told you he wouldn't win."

She lights a fire, because it's dusk and visibility is low, but really, who cares if they find her now? It's only speeding up the inevitable. She fries all the fish, eating them until she is stuffed. She wraps the rest in leaves and packs them in her bag, on the off chance she'll have time to eat them tomorrow.

There's three of them left. The rivalries have already been set, they're moving ever closer together. She's watched enough Games to know at this point the Capitol are done with tension and survival, they want nothing but action from now on. There's not going to be another night in this arena, she's sure of it, she can feel it in her bones. By sunset tomorrow it will be over, whatever that means for her.

The Anthem plays and she watches as Brad's face appears in the sky. She idly gets out her knife and slices another notch in her arm, spills some blood for the boy she killed today. Two competitors left. Both with more against her than they have against each other. However the final battles turn out, the Capitol will want her in the centre of them.

It feels a little like the night before she went into the arena. Lying down, all alone, wondering if tomorrow will be her last.

It probably will be.

But then, didn't she think that every day she's been here? And every day she has survived. She looks down at the ten notches in her arm, the last one still bleeding. She's defeated, murdered, more people than she thought possible. The odds have never been in her favour, yet here she is. Still alive.

_The chance is there,_ she thinks, almost mournfully, _JD was right, I could win, I could go home. I could live the rest of my life in luxury as a victor._

_And then what?_

And then she will have to go back to District 8, have to face her friends and acquaintances, knowing they have seen each and every terrible thing that she has done. She will have to pass Brad's parents and siblings knowing she has caused their grief, face the judgement of her district, knowing she broke one of the unspoken rules of the Games.

She will have to live through a Victory Tour, have to shake hands with Martha's father, have to speak of honour in front of Heather Chandler's family, have to look Heather McNamara's fiancé in the eye, have to be told that Betty, Dennis and Rodney have no family left...

She will have to live a life as lonely as Cecelia's in the Victor's Village, designing dresses for the Capitol, being praised and having her hollow victory toasted to at Capitol parties. All the friendships and intimacy she once had when working at the factories, speculating what it might be like to wear such finery, just being a girl who is only 17, will be gone.

And every year she will have to mentor two more children, only to watch them get slaughtered, or worse, turn into whatever empty shell she is now.

Any dream she had of winning the Games and having a life better than the one she had before has already been torn to tatters.

She doesn't try very hard to sleep. Doesn't see the point. She'll only be woken in a few hours by some disaster set to chase her back towards her competitors. She's not particularly worried about dying on the way there. No matter what else she and JD have done, they've put on a great show – they'll probably be riots in the Capitol if the Gamemakers don't make it come to its proper bloody conclusion. All they're waiting for is a good time to sync this final battle up with the Capitol's parties.

She'd kill herself now to spite the Capitol if that didn't mean letting one of two monsters win without even an attempt to fight them.

For the moment though, the only sounds are the soft noises of the forest, almost comforting in their innocence. She spends a long time like that, lying on her back, slipping in and out of consciousness, gazing at the stars and moon as they shine a light through the trees, just revelling in the silence. God knows, however tomorrow turns out, she's never going to experience silence like this again for as long as she lives.

She misses him, sort of. She doesn't miss the psycho mass murderer part of him that never quite let her forget that he was planning her death, but she misses the company – the way that he made her feel, if only for a while, that she was more than just a prisoner being sent to her execution. He made her feel that to someone (however unstable) she was worth something more than good TV, that she didn't just have to be alone living through this.

He was a distraction, with him it was easy to ignore the thoughts that now almost overwhelm her. Whatever happens tomorrow, whether she leaves the arena or is buried there, she'll never be normal again.

An indeterminate amount of time later, just as the stars begin to fade, she hears the rumble of thunder and a lightning bolt lands alarmingly close to her, setting the surrounding bushes on fire.

She grabs her bag, grips her knife and jumps to her feet.

So it begins.

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 11**

**District 1  
** ~~Heather McNamara~~   
~~Ram Sweeny~~

**District 2  
** ~~Heather Chandler~~   
~~David Remington~~

**District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~   
~~Peter Dawson~~

**District 4  
** Heather Duke  
 ~~Kurt Kelly~~

**District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~   
~~Rodney Bulb~~

**District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~   
~~Al Springer~~

**District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~   
~~Bobby Young~~

**District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
 ~~Brad Richards~~

**District 9  
** ~~Courtney Chadwick~~   
~~Keith Harrington~~

**District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~   
~~Dennis Grundy~~

**District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~   
~~Dwight Archer~~

**District 12  
** ~~Martha Dunstock~~  
Jason Dean

**Deaths today:** 1  
 **Survivors:** 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more day and the epilogue to go after this. Make of that what you will.


	17. Arena Day 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is guys, what you have (or adamantly haven’t) been waiting for.
> 
> One bingo, the final new one.

Veronica runs.

The way to go is obvious. There is a wall of fire and some very deadly looking lightning bolts behind her. So she can just focus on putting one foot in front of another, trying not to stumble as she continues through the darkness, hands stuck awkwardly in front of her so she doesn't end her Games by charging headfirst into an unexpected tree.

It doesn't rain this time so there is nothing to mellow the scorching heat and the overwhelming smoke. But she's different too now, she doesn't need his hand guiding her through the woodland to survive. The fire licks her so closely that it sets her bag alight, she cuts it quickly off her shoulders and continues on, letting it drop to the floor, she's not going to need the supplies anyway, just the knife in her hand. She feels no fear, not at any of this, this is just another obstacle she needs to get past before she reaches her final destination.

They'll all be watching her now. Everyone in Panem. Her exhausted face will be on every TV and blown up on giant screens in all the Central Squares. She has watched 16 years of the Games, she knows what it will be like at home, in any of the districts. Despite the early hour (Peacekeepers make sure they're up when the Games get this tense), the Central Square will be teaming with people, but still eerily silent. It is hard to even breathe when it gets to this point, to watch the final few use whatever pathetic strength they have left to try to win, to wonder whose weeks of suffering will be entirely for naught.

In the Capitol they're probably just putting on popcorn and making bets, a perfect double homicide to end their all-night parties. They don't know, they don't know anything. She wants them to know what it's like to be pulled from their families, to be pitched against other innocents until they all have blood on their hands, she wants to see them suffer, like she has seen so many others, wants to corner them, watch them quiver at the blade in her hand, wants to kill them, slowly, painfully, for what they have done to her, to everyone. And it is that hate that spurs her on to continue, to face her final battle.

She will not be forgotten. She will not just be another number. She is Veronica Sawyer and she wants to win.

The forest foliage gets thinner underfoot and the light of the dawn spills through the trees, even with the acrid smoke polluting the air. She stumbles on for a few minutes more, until the woodland stops and the flames go no further, she feels the uneven texture of sand under her feet, around her are stacks of large boulders.

 _I'm in the desert_ , she realises _, I am as far north as the arena goes._

It feels like the end of the world, in more ways than one.

She clings onto her knife, like her life depends on it, (because it does, of course it fucking does), and looks for her opponents. She appears to be the first one here, she tries to spot tell-tale footprints to reveal anyone hiding behind the rocks, but sees none. Anyway, she knows both the people she's about to fight uncomfortably well and sees no reason why either wouldn't go straight for the offensive.

She feels the sweltering heat go up another notch, the only relief a light breeze on her face. When she turns to look back at the flames she finds them tree-high and having completely devoured the woodland. Further walls of fire are approaching her in every direction. There's no mistaking it, this is the place where they will have their final battle. This is the place where two of them will die.

Just as she starts accepting her new reality, watching the blaze move ever forward, waiting for someone to arrive, the breeze turns to wind, which turns to a gale, forcing the smoke towards her and blowing the sand into the air. The grains sting as they whip her face and arms, and it's all she can do to force her eyes open as she squints, trying to see anything that will help her in the inevitable battle.

But all she sees is flame and smoke and sand. In the red light of the dawn, it looks exactly like hell.

Maybe it is. Maybe she died sometime in the last few weeks and is unable to tell the difference.

A shadow appears in her vision, getting larger and larger and more solid, until, before she can react, it descends on her, pushing both of them into the red hot sand.

She knows it's Heather before her eyes catch up, she's so much stronger than JD even at his angriest and her hold is practiced and iron-hard, not letting Veronica move an inch.

Heather doesn't bother to get out the knife, tucked into a rope she's tied around her waist, just punches Veronica, once, twice, three, four, five, six times in her face. Veronica feels two teeth fall into her mouth and her nose crumples under Heather's fist. There is a second's reprise from the blows as the blood trickles down her face and into her hair and, for a mad moment, she thinks the blood might have triggered Heather's feelings of nausea, but one look at her feral expression and she knows she is mistaken. The girl before her is not Heather, but an unrepentant killing machine, her entire consciousness consumed by the desire for revenge and to leave the arena alive.

 _You aren't a monster Heather,_ she dares not say, _or at least you weren't before you entered the Games. None of us were, not really._

Well, maybe one of them was. But who knows how he would have turned out had he not seen his mother disappear into flames, while his district watched and did nothing.

_And really, having watched the needless death of friends and done atrocious deeds just to stay alive, all in the name of an authoritarian regime myself, am I any less scarred and broken than he is now? I am damaged beyond repair too._

Veronica's own knife flaps aimlessly in her weak grip until it falls out of her hand, the pain too much to do anything but shriek, and there is no way to stop it when Heather's hands move around her neck and push down, mercilessly. Veronica's screaming comes to an abrupt and unpleasant halt as she struggles hopelessly, clawing at Heather's face in a vain attempt to let even a gasp of smoky air into her lungs, until her strength fails her and she goes limp on the sand.

She will die here. In the hands of this girl with madness in her eyes. Heather's grip on her windpipe tightens, black dots obscure her vision, she is overwhelmed with dizziness. _So much for a painless death,_ she thinks, as her throat and lungs burn, desperate for air. She closes her eyes, determined not to show the world how scared she is.

Abstract images float in the forefront of her mind, as the roar of the fire and wind fade into the background, even her pain subsides as the pressing need for air becomes overwhelming. And then there is something else. A noise, still faint, penetrates her fading consciousness and there it is again, louder. A horn? A howl? A yell.

There's a jolt and Heather's hands loosen with a cry. There's the all too familiar sound of a blade hitting flesh and Heather's ponytail whips Veronica in the face as she turns towards this new distraction, her hand moving automatically to her knife.

Veronica barely has time to take an experimental breath before she hears a scream of frustration and Heather is pulled roughly off her.

"No," hisses the newcomer, "she's mine."

He's not talking about Heather.

JD manages another cut to Heather's arm before she throws herself at him, and they tussle on the ground, clanging knives glinting in the light of the early sun.

 _They don't care about killing each other, they just want to make sure they're the one who gets to kill me,_ she realises, _huh... I always thought two hot people fighting over me would be sexier than this._

Her body automatically takes in large gulps of air, it makes her throat burn, but the fogginess in her vision clears and the strength returns to her body. Veronica forces herself up so she's in a sitting position, spitting out her loose teeth, she spots her knife lying close by and grabs it quickly.

She wipes the blood from her face with her sleeve and looks at the boy she'd consider her saviour if she didn't already know too much about him.

He looks no better than he did when she left him two days ago, his clothes hang in bloody rags from his body, underneath she can see a tapestry of scars and bite marks painting his skin.

She tries to pull herself to her feet, but her body is still doing its best to restore oxygen to her system, and she can't focus on moving her legs. She tears her eyes away from her two potential killers, to see if there is any way of escape, but of course there is not, the flames that circle them are now so high they appear to reach the top of the arena.

His piercing scream cuts through the chaos, and her attention snaps right back to the fight in front of her, he is grasping his hand, blood flowing down it in waves.

"You bitch," he screams between bursts of anguish, as he writhes on the ground in pain, all clever conversation gone, "that was my finger!"

But Heather's attention is no longer on him, she carelessly grabs his knife and tosses it in the impenetrable flames and then gets up heading straight for Veronica.

_You couldn't have just finished him off for me, could you Heather?_

Veronica's legs start working, just fast enough to viciously scissor kick Heather, sending her tumbling to the ground. Veronica throws herself on top of her, managing a few almost harmless stabs to Heather's side before Heather grabs her by her injured shoulder and rolls them over so she is on top of her. Veronica's knife is knocked out of her hand with a practiced ease when she tries to retaliate.

 _Next Hunger Games,_ Veronica thinks, _I am going to spend all my time training in the art of keeping hold of a knife._

Heather's grin is manic as she holds Veronica down with one hand on her chest while using the others to press non-fatal but painful as hell cuts on her torso, relishing in Veronica's cries, desperate to punish her, to make sure someone, anyone, suffers for all she has had to endure.

Veronica, weapon-less, flails and then grabs the only thing she can find. Heather's ponytail, her fingers tangle with the red scrunchie, so she pulls it out of her hair, flinging it into the flames, and for a moment Heather is distracted as her tangled auburn curls fall into her eyes.

With all the force she can muster, Veronica brings her hand down onto Heather's left thigh, exactly where the giant eagle pierced her, scraping her nails along the cut, doing her best to brutally pull all the stitches, that she once had so gently sewn, out.

Heather screams in agony and moves to swat her away, but Veronica pays her no attention, instead, she goes straight for the knife, now loose in Heather's hand, snatches it from her and stabs her in the side of her neck.

It takes Heather a second to realise what has happened. It's only once she has instinctively pulled the knife out that she registers the blood spurting from her neck. So much blood. Unquestionably fatal.

If Veronica thought she could see no more hate in Heather's eyes than was already there, she is proven wrong as they meet hers with alarming focus, using the last of her strength to toss the knife into the flames.

"You fucking cunt," she spits at her with her final raspy breaths, "you could at least have let someone who had a life after this win. In my district, victors are honoured, all you have to look forward to is your district distrusting you and being some rich Capitol man's whore."

Unlike the other Heathers, there is no fear in Heather Duke's gaze in her last moments. Even as they glass over, her eyes glare at Veronica, cold, accusing.

There is no time to mourn, she pushes Heather's body off her and scrambles to her feet the moment the cannon booms, last time she stared too long at a dead Heather he had a knife pressed to her stomach and she doesn't intend to repeat that experience.

He is on his feet just as fast, blood pouring freely down his left hand from where he used to have a finger, his knife lost to the flames, but she is weaponless too and his dominant hand is still very much in play.

She wonders if it should feel easier when it gets to this part. Her odds have been slashed from near impossible, to one in two, but it doesn't feel like that. Whatever she does, however she may fight, in her heart she knows that she's never going home.

His eyes, as cold, calculating and merciless as ever, take her in, looking for weakness, as if the last week they spent together meant nothing to him at all. Even as the wind and fire rage around him, she thinks his grimace is somewhat smug. He's done it. Whatever part of his plan that involved them being the last two alive was successful. Now there's only one more step to carry out.

She feels the fury rise within her. He's taken away her freedom, her innocence, her sanity, her soul, she won't let him take her life too. Not without a fight.

They circle around each other, waiting for the other to make a wrong move that would put them at a disadvantage.

All she can hear is their footsteps, everything else has been tuned out. Perhaps it has been for all of Panem too, but they don't feel it like she does, for them there will be another year, another Games, but for her this is it. The final battle. The one she has been waiting for all her life.

Good vs Evil.

Evil vs Evil.

Slave vs Slave.

_God knows the Capitol has taken as much from all of us as he has from me._

_And it will continue,_ she thinks bitterly, _Heather is right, winning will not set either of us free._

She already knows how pathetic a life she will lead if she leaves the arena alive and, if it were even possible, if he lives his will be worse. After all that treason, all that business with his mother, all the hate for the Capitol he so easily spouts out, all he'll get for winning as an armed guard as soon as he leaves the arena and a convenient accident the moment the publicity dies down. Surely he knows this? Maybe he thinks all the death he's caused is worth it.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees something glint on the ground, reflecting the little fire light that has made its way through the raging sandstorm, and she risks breaking his stare to see what it is.

Her heart leaps.

Her knife! The one Heather knocked out of her hand! She dives towards it, desperate to have a weapon, an advantage in this final, deadly fight.

Unfortunately, he has also followed her gaze.

They both reach it at the same time, grabbing the hilt and pulling it towards them with such force that they end up chest to chest on the ground, tussling together violently like they have so many times before, except now there is a diamond-sharp blade between them. They viciously scratch their nails against each other's flesh, pull hair and leave teeth marks in skin, in an attempt to get the upper hand…

And then he hisses, breath coming through his teeth, and his struggling stops. She feels the now alarmingly familiar sensation of blood: warm, wet and sticky, soak the fabric covering her abdomen. And, for a moment, time stands still.

Carefully she peels herself off him and looks down at the damage.

Both of them simply stare at the red pool growing around the knife lodged in his stomach.

And then the world moves again, and she grabs the knife with both hands, wrenches it out of him and plunges it in again and again until her breathing is ragged and her hands are bruised from the effort.

Tears are streaming down her face and she's no idea why, but she's sure it's justified. Blood is everywhere once she is done, but his eyes are still alight, following her, calculating her next move. She kneels on top of him, pointing the blade straight at his heart.

"Go on," he gargles, blood spilling onto his lips as he speaks, somehow even now it still feels like he's mocking her, "one more move and you win."

Her knife hangs still. She's been fantasising about killing him, about escaping, for days, but now it's here, now he's entirely at her mercy, she's not sure she's ready.

He might disagree with what she thinks, he might use it against her, but he understands her.

Once he's gone who else will? She has friends and family back in District 8, but she can't imagine they'd be anything but horrified at what she's turned into, and even if they treated her like they did before – she's not the girl they once knew. Certainly the people in the Capitol who take bets on them and relive their favourite moments will never know what she does. Perhaps some of the other victors might come to understand her – but she's never seen a victor quite like her, they normally are either Careers or similar, who revel in the attention, or victims, who pretend to hold it together despite not really getting over their trauma.

She feels different from them all. She hates the Games, she hates the Games and the people who enjoy them like nothing else in her life. They're horrific, she wants them to end – she wants to have never been reaped. But there's a joy in killing, a rush of power knowing you have changed the future. Here, the sole survivor of a massive crime scene, she can admit that to herself. There had been so many chances to run, to take herself out, and she had ignored them all because somewhere in her head she had wanted to win – not for the prize of the life she no longer knows what to do with, but the pride of knowing she could, to know she hasn't died without making any difference to the world.

He's a murderous asshole with no conscience, and she doesn't know who she is without him. There's always going to be a part of him whispering in her ear for however long she lives.

Part of her is pleased.

She holds her breath and presses the blade down.

He lasts longer than Heather, she gets the impression he's consciously trying to. He lives long enough to pull her close, his gaze nothing less than reverent, gripping her with a strength that a dying man should not possess, and whispers in her ear so quietly the microphones can't pick up, "You win, Veronica, you have power they never expected, that I never expected, the question is, what next? Now that you're dead, what are you going to do with your life?"

He slips his other hand down onto her ass, underneath her underwear, at first she thinks he's just trying to cop a feel, obnoxious down to his last breath, but then, out of view of the cameras, she feels him drop something. Yet, when she looks at him to question his actions, Jason Dean is gone, and she is left with even fewer answers than she had the day she met him. She slumps, exhausted, against his lifeless body.

The final cannon booms.

_It's sooner than later that I'm six feet under.  
It's sooner than later that you'll be alone.  
So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder?  
For when the bell rings, lover, you're on your own._

* * *

**The Capitol Presents: the Surviving Tributes, Day 12**

**District 1  
** ~~Heather McNamara~~  
 ~~Ram Sweeny~~

 **District 2  
** ~~Heather Chandler~~  
 ~~David Remington~~

 **District 3  
** ~~Betty Finn~~  
 ~~Peter Dawson~~

 **District 4  
** ~~Heather Duke~~  
 ~~Kurt Kelly~~

 **District 5  
** ~~Shannon Lucas~~  
 ~~Rodney Bulb~~

 **District 6  
** ~~Cathy Stone~~  
 ~~Al Springer~~

 **District 7  
** ~~Tracy Hophead~~  
 ~~Bobby Young~~

 **District 8  
** Veronica Sawyer  
 ~~Brad Richards~~

 **District 9  
** ~~Courtney Chadwick~~  
 ~~Keith Harrington~~

 **District 10  
** ~~Shelly Little~~  
 ~~Dennis Grundy~~

 **District 11  
** ~~Phyllis McCarthy~~  
 ~~Dwight Archer~~

 **District 12  
** ~~Martha Dunstock~~  
 ~~Jason Dean~~

 **Deaths today:** 2  
 **Survivors:** 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is from Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (the Hunger Games prequel that came out last year), you can find the best rendition of it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63TUmIZCVaI).


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we are here!
> 
> NGL I am a little nervous about what the reaction will be to the ending, but it’s what everything has been leading to from the beginning and I stand by it.
> 
> Bingo: if my calculations are correct we already have a winner, but there is also a repeat in this chapter.
> 
> I have a few things I want to share with you about this fic (along with the bingo results ~~and prizes~~ ) so I will post an appendix in a few days’ time.
> 
> (Lyrics below are from the same song as in the last chapter)

_And I am the one who you let see you weeping.  
I know the soul that you struggle to save.  
Too bad I'm the bet that you lost in the reaping.  
Now what will you do when I go to my grave?_

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the 89th Hunger Games, Veronica Sawyer!"

It takes her a while to hear the cheering of the audience through the arena's loudspeakers, and she barely registers the announcement of her hollow victory. She just pulls his body to hers tighter, terrified they'll take him away from her.

Finally, she sees the flames are gone and there's a hovercraft above her. She uses all her strength to untangle herself from him. Feels physical loss when she can no longer touch his cooling flesh. Following instinct alone, she grabs onto the ladder and clings on as it slowly pulls her up, the hollering screams of the excited audience vibrating in her eardrums.

How dare they? There are 23 children dead, and all they can do is clap and cheer the sole survivor. And in 6 months they'll take day trips to the arena, laugh as they watch their own children excitedly act out their favourite deaths, as if it is a scene in a movie, safe in the knowledge that it will never happen to them.

She wants them to know. She wants them to suffer like she has, she wants them to see everyone they care about die, to know that their own execution is moments away too, wants them to feel the helplessness, of not being able to do anything to stop it.

She clambers through the trap door and collapses immediately onto the glass floor. Below her, she can see the arena that has been her home for the last two weeks, get smaller and smaller. A second hovercraft, with JD's still bleeding body in its grip, takes off in the opposite direction, taking him away from her forever. He'll be buried somewhere near the arena, they all will, the tributes who were alive not two weeks before. She's not entirely sure where. She hopes they put them close to each other.

She wants to join them. She'd rather face all her enemies in the arena again than the ones she's about to face right now.

As if on cue, the doors burst open and Pauline runs out followed by the rest of her prep team (Cecelia and Garfunkel remain timidly in the doorway), a greedy smile on her face, Pauline pulls Veronica onto her feet and into a hug, only flinching slightly at having to touch the dirt and blood that covers her body, "Oh Veronica, I always knew it would be you! What a wonder – for District 8 to have a champion!"

_Yeah, that's why you were cosying up to Brad the whole time, was it?_

She can't deal with the natter of the uncondemned, so she pushes her off and turns away. Only to reel back at what she comes face to face with; some fool has made a door reflective enough for her to catch a glimpse of herself, and her bloodshot eyes cannot look away.

The last time she can remember seeing her reflection was on the day of her interview, when she couldn't recognise the beautiful girl in front of her, smiling, waving and twirling in the mirror.

But that girl was the girl who was reaped's twin compared to the thing that stares back at her now, wounded, thin, sunburnt, dirty, ragged and snarling. She's covered in blood, hers, his, Heather's, Brad's, maybe others, who even knows anymore? There are gaps in her teeth, her nose looks like it will never regain its shape and around her throat bruises are starting to form like a grim necklace.

She looks nearly as wretched, broken and disgusting as her soul does.

She's tired. So tired.

"Veronica dear, come along now, we've got to fix you up for…"

"No!" she shrieks, watching, without satisfaction, as Pauline's jaw drops, "Not now! I will do everything you say once we get to the Capitol, for now, can you just leave me alone?"

It doesn't sound particularly fierce to her ears but they back away fast and she wonders how terrifying she seems after all she's done.

_Is this how everyone will feel about me for the rest of my life?_

Once they are gone she slumps against the hovercraft wall, takes deep breaths for several minutes until she's calm enough to think straight. It's quiet in the room now, this will be the last time she's alone for God knows how long. She glances around and works out quickly where the cameras are and casually shuffles to where she's not in their sightline.

Finally, she gets a chance to reach for the item he left her with.

It's a mine. She looks at it blankly, because it's not what she expected. True, she didn't know what to expect, but why this? He'd told her they'd used them up days ago, if he'd known there was one spare why hadn't he used it against Heather? Hell, why hadn't he used it against her?

She flips the item over in her hand, glancing at the door occasionally to make sure she's not being watched, he's not sentimental enough to leave her a memento so it's a message, it has to be, but what? That he let her win? That he could have gotten the better of her if he'd wanted to? Surely that's part of it, the bastard, but it can't be all of it.

Does he want her to use it? To throw at the Capitol crowds as they cheer their victor? Or even at President Gowan as he comes up to shake her hand. After all, he used his last words to encourage her to use her power… but that wouldn't work, and he must know it! They spend ages, days, preparing a victor before they're presented to the crowds, someone is bound to find this on her person! He'll get her executed! Maybe that's the point, to have her lose too, at her moment of victory. But that's not his style either, she might not really understand him but she understands that, after all they've been through together, to have her killed by the Capitol he hates for something so petty when he doesn't even get to watch…

She's distracted by the sight of the Capitol coming into view. When she arrived two? three? weeks ago (God, it feels like a lifetime) it was by train and that was impressive enough; buildings so tall they appeared to brush the sky, grandiose roads so wide they could fit 6 cars all at once, white, glistening statues 10 or 20 times as large as her, gardens with perfectly arranged flowers surrounding elaborately sculpted hedges. Even on her journey to death row, the sights had been breathtaking.

But the views from the train are nothing on the views from the air.

She remembers Pauline telling her how few have flown over the Capitol by hovercraft and she pities their loss. Even in her traumatised state she is unable to pull her eyes away. Through the glass floor she can see the buildings of the Capitol, fancy houses and flats with rooftop gardens and swimming pools, shops that are bigger than District 8's Town Hall, in the distance she can see President Gowan's palace, the Capitol's own Town Hall which looks grand enough to be a palace itself, the weapons store with its shining purple roof, where (at least according to JD) on the top floor, right up to the roof, they store the nuclear bombs…

Oh.

_Oh._

She fingers the mine in her hand… the mine that goes off on impact… the mine they use to set off bigger explosions… and it slowly all makes sense.

How high in the air would a nuclear explosion reach? Higher than this, she guesses, it doesn't really matter in any case, even if she did survive none of the Capitol staff on this flight would let her leave alive.

_Understand them, learn what they want, learn what they fear, learn what motivates them, say the right words and you won't have to kill them. They'll do it themselves._

No. She won't survive. She was never meant to. She's his magnum opus, his final victory. Of course, _of course_ , his greatest competitor would have the most impressive death.

At least, as promised, it will be quick and painless.

He's planned this from the beginning, it's why he volunteered. He's planned her role in this too – he made sure she won for this moment; so she could be here, alone, with all the power and none of the monitoring and suspicion his victory would have caused.

Perhaps he's known what he wanted from her from the moment he looked into her eyes and saw intelligence, saw competition. Or maybe he didn't see that, maybe he just saw a challenge, a bit of entertainment to toy with during his final days, to see how far he could push her, to see if he could reach his endgame – to kill tens of thousands – without ever lighting the fuse…

Why does it feel like a betrayal when she knew what he was from the start?

But he's succeeded, she's not going to stop, even now she's realised his plan. There are only two choices ahead of her and she knows the life of being loathed by her district and used by the Capitol, haunted by nightmares, forever asking 'what if?' is not for her.

He's given her an opportunity, whether he cares about her motives for the deed himself, here is a chance to get what she wants.

_I don't want them to win._

The Capitol will be gone in one brief explosion, tens of thousands will die, the guilty and innocent alike; the crowds who cheer, the children who will never be reaped, the Gamemakers who have spent the last two weeks making them suffer.

They'll be a revolution, they'll be chaos, the world will burn. But maybe it will rebuild itself from there. Maybe a new world, without the Capitol's control, will be better than the one she was born into.

Well, it's not like it could be much worse.

The hatch where she entered the hovercraft has an emergency exit lever, she walks towards it. From here she has a clear view of what they are flying over, of the purple roof heading closer. It's now or never.

She waits for the feeling she always gets, where she realises she doesn't want to die. It doesn't come. Instead, there's a different feeling, one of power, one of finally being able to take control, to ensure her fellow tributes didn't die for nothing, to exact revenge on the ones who have wronged her and who have caused the suffering of everyone she has ever known.

_I feel… I feel like a God._

When she closes her eyes to gather herself together, it's Betty's face she sees, shining with determination, desperate to make a difference in this world, no matter what the cost.

She needs to get her timing right.

She puts the mine between her thumb and forefinger. It's too late to worry about the cameras now, too late to worry about whether her decision is right, too late to change her mind.

She gives the cameras one last smile, waits until they're just about to be overhead, pulls the lever and lets the mine slip out of her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has read this fic and obviously those who commented. You guys are all amazing and I love you all.
> 
> As this is the last chapter, if you’ve made it here, may I ask for a comment just to let me know what you thought? Even if you’re reading this 5 or 10 years from now, I always appreciate comments, it means a lot to me and I promise I’m not very scary!


	19. Appendix

Just a few fun things I want to share with you guys to thank you for all being such wonderful readers:

**Arena Map**

Some writers let their story grow as they go along, others strictly plan everything out from the beginning.

…I think it might be clear by now that I am the latter (I struggle to write oneshots without a bullet point list of where I am going). And as such I couldn’t write without drawing a map of the arena to keep track of everything.

My artistic skills do not exceed my MS paint drawing here and I will admit to adding extra bits of river when the plot demanded it. But hopefully you enjoy seeing what was going on:

**Music**

The song that inspired the title of the fic can be listened to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfmsMRwx6Xs). I find it very Jdonica, espcially the Jdonica I wrote in this fic.

I also present to you this fic's playlist made by the ever wonderful chxrryb0mb [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2tzh5FaXmPF0j8SmBokqAG?si=rF25V_iJQUySK44ce0G6xw)

**Bingo!**

And now for what precisely two of you have been waiting for! The results of bingo!

So our winner is… **Purple_Stapler!!!** With 19 points and following very closely behind is **Alexandra_dAutriche** with 16 points!

It was really, really close, so close that I realised if we were counting by chapters rather than songs Alex would have just slipped ahead, so with that in mind I have decided to give you both a prize!

And your prize is – a oneshot each at your request! I will do anything, it can be in this fic’s universe or Heathers in general (the only think I won’t do is JD’s POV during this fic as I want to leave him ambiguous). But just let me know what you want and I’ll write it :D

**Want to talk more?**

I’ve had so much fun replying to reviews and talking to you guys in the comments. My tumblr is: [deeplyshalllow.tumblr.com/](https://deeplyshalllow.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk about this fic or Heathers feel free to message me.

**And just for fun…**

The utterly plausible alternate happy ending!

Once they are gone she slumps against the hovercraft wall, takes deep breaths for several minutes until she’s calm enough to think straight. It’s quiet in the room now, she’s alone for the last time in God knows how long. She glances round and works out quickly where the cameras are and casually shuffles to where she’s not in their sightline.

Finally, she gets a chance to reach for the item he left her with.

When she sees it she gasps! JD has left her with a magic wishing ring!

“I wish everything was good!” wishes Veronica happily.

There is a magic flash and with a ping Veronica is back in District 8 except now they don’t have rules or to work and shit and everyone is happy and she’s all pretty again.

All her friends hug her, “Yaaaaaay Veronica!” they say, “we’re so proud of you, you’ve made us so happy!”

Then President Gowan comes over. “Sorry for being so mean Veronica,” he says, I have now banned the Hunger Games and being mean to the districts and I want everyone to be happy." He presents her with a written apology signed by all the Capitol, “they all say they’re really sorry for being mean and cheering your death and stuff.”

“It’s ok, now we’re friends,” says Veronica and hugs him.

Then all the tributes come over, they are all alive again because of Veronica’s magical wish.

“Thank you Veronica,” they all cry, also none of them are mean anymore and they’re all friends.

Then Betty comes over and hugs her, “Thank you Ronnie, you’re amazing.” She says.

Finally JD comes over, he’s all handsome and shit, and also he’s good now and not a psychopath, “I love you Veronica,” he says lovingly. Then they kiss and they float up in the air with hearts around them like in the Sims 2.

Suddenly, JD gets down on one knee!!!

“Will you marry me Veronica?” he asks.

“YES!” shouts Veronica, and they make out and have all the sex.

Then Veronica and JD get married and have 10 kids (who aren’t evil) and adopt 3 cats called Spartacus, Cornelius and Mr Fluffles.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all one final time for reviewing and engaging. I've had a lot of fun I hope you do too. And I hope to see you guys again in whatever I write next :D


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